^Mm 


Tarn  o'  the  Scoots 


Tarn's  two  guns  flamed  for  four  seconds    and  then 

the  German  dropped  straight  for  earth 

See  page  187 


TAM   O'  THE  SCOOTS 


BY 


EDGAR  WALLACE 

Author  of   "The  Clue  of  the  Twisted  Candle,"  "Kate  Plus 
10,"  "The  Man  Who  Knew,"  etc 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 

L.  A.  SHAFER 


BOSTON 

SMALL,  MAYNARD  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1919 

By  SMALL,  MAYNARD  &  COMPANY 

(incorporated) 


To 

QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 

AND   ALL    AIRMEN,    FRIEND   AND   FOE 
ALIKE,    WHO   HAVE    FALLEN    IN    CLEAN    FIGHTING 


The  world  was  a  puddle  of  gloom  and  of  shadowy  things, 
He  sped  till  the  red  and  the  gold  of  invisible  day 

Was  burnish  and  flames  to  the  undermost  spread  of  his  wings, 
So  he  outlighted  the  stars  as  he  poised  in  the  grey. 

Nearer  was  he  to  the  knowledge  and  splendour  of  God, 

Mysteries  sealed  from  the  ken  of  the  ancient  and  wise — 

Beauties  forbidden  to  those  who  are  one  with  the  clod — 

All  that  there  was  of  the  Truth  was  revealed  to  his  eyes. 

Flickers  of  fire  from  the  void  and  the  whistle  of  death, 

Clouds    that    snapped    blackly    beneath    him,    above    and 
beside, 

Watch  him,  serene  and  uncaring — holding  your  breath, 
Fearing  his  peril  and  all  that  may  come  of  his  pride. 

Now  he  was  swooped  to  the  world  like  a  bird  to  his  nest, 
Now  is  the  drone  of  his  coming  the  roaring  of  hell, 

Now  with  a  splutter  and  crash  are  the  engines  at  rest — 
All's  well ! 

E.  W. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


I     The  Case  of  Lasky i 

II     Puppies  of  the  Pack 21 

III  The  Coming  of  Muller     ....     40 

IV  The  Strafing  of  Muller  ....     58 

V    Annie — the  Gun 76 

VI  The    Law-Breaker    and    Frightful- 

ness 100 

VII  The  Man  Behind  the  Circus      .     .   130 

VIII    A  Question  of  Rank 157 

IX     A  Reprisal  Raid 191 

X    The  Last  Load 220 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  CASE  OF  LASKY 

Lieutenant  Bridgeman  went  out  over 
the  German  line  and  "strafed"  a  depot.  He 
stayed  a  while  to  locate  a  new  gun  position 
and  was  caught  between  three  strong  bat- 
teries of  Archies. 

"Reports?"  said  the  wing  commander. 
"Well,  Bridgeman  isn't  back  and  Tarn  said 
he  saw  him  nose-dive  behind  the  German 
trenches." 

So  the  report  was  made  to  Headquarters 
and  Headquarters  sent  forward  a  long  ac- 
count of  air  flights  for  publication  in  the 
day's  communique,  adding,  "One  of  our 
machines  did  not  return." 

"But,  A'  doot  if  he's  killit,"  said  Tarn; 
1 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

"he  flattened  oot  before  he  reached  airth  an' 
flew  aroond  a  bit.  Wi'  ye  no  ask  Mr. 
Lasky,  sir-r,  he's  just  in?" 

Mr.  Lasky  was  a  bright-faced  lad  who,  in 
ordinary  circumstances,  might  have  been 
looking  forward  to  his  leaving-book  from 
Eton,  but  now  had  to  his  credit  divers 
bombed  dumps  and  three  enemy  airmen. 

He  met  the  brown-faced,  red-haired, 
awkwardly  built  youth  whom  all  the  Flying 
Corps  called  "Tarn." 

"Ah,  Tarn,"  said  Lasky  reproachfully,  "I 
was  looking  for  you — I  wanted  you  badly." 

Tarn  chuckled. 

"A'  thocht  so,"  he  said,  "but  A'  wis  not  so 
far  frae  the  aerodrome  when  yon  feller 
chased  you — " 

"I  was  chasing  him!"  said  the  indignant 
Lasky. 

"Oh,  ay?"  replied  the  other  skeptically. 
"An'  was  ye  wantin'  the  Scoot  to  help  ye 
chase  ain  puir  wee  Hoon?  Sir-r,  A'  think 
shame  on  ye  for  misusin'  the  puir  laddie." 

"There  were  four,"  protested  Lasky. 
2 


THE  CASE  OF  LASKY 

"And  yeer  gun  jammed,  A'm  thinkin',  so 
wi'  rair  presence  o'  mind,  ye  stood  oop  in  the 
fuselage  an'  hit  the  nairest  representative  of 
the  Imperial  Gairman  Air  Sairvice  a  crack 
over  the  heid  wi'  a  spanner." 

A  little  group  began  to  form  at  the  door 
of  the  mess-room,  for  the  news  that  Tarn  the 
Scoot  was  "up"  was  always  sufficient  to  at- 
tract an  audience.  As  for  the  victim  of 
Tarn's  irony,  his  eyes  were  dancing  with 
glee. 

"Dismayed  or  frichtened  by  this  appari- 
tion of  the  supermon  i'  the  airr,"  continued 
Tarn  in  the  monotonous  tone  he  adopted 
when  he  was  evolving  one  of  his  romances, 
"the  enemy  fled,  emittin'  spairks  an'  vapair 
to  hide  them  from  the  veegilant  ee  o'  young 
Mr.  Lasky,  the  Boy  Avenger,  oor  the  Terror 
o'  the  Fairmament.  They  darted  heether 
and  theether  wi'  their  remorseless  pairsuer 
on  their  heels  an'  the  seenister  sound  of  his 
bullets  whistlin'  in  their  lugs.  Ain  by  ain 
the  enemy  is  defeated,  fa'ing  like  Lucifer 
in  a  flamin'  shrood.     Soodenly  Mr.  Lasky 

3 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

turns  verra  pale.  Heavens!  A  thocht  has 
strook  him.  Where  is  Tam  the  Scoot? 
The  horror  o'  the  thocht  leaves  him  braith- 
less ;  an'  back  he  tairns  an'  like  a  hawk  deeps 
sweeftly  but  gracefully  into  the  aerodrome 
— saved!" 

"Bravo,  Tam!"  They  gave  him  his  due 
reward  with  great  handclapping  and  Tam 
bowed  left  and  right,  his  forage  cap  in  his 
hand. 

"Folks,"  he  said,  "ma  next  pairformance 
will  be  duly  annoonced." 

Tam  came  from  the  Clyde.  He  was  not 
a  ship-builder,  but  was  the  assistant  of  a 
man  who  ran  a  garage  and  did  small  repairs. 
Nor  was  he,  in  the  accepted  sense  of  the 
word,  a  patriot,  because  he  did  not  enlist  at 
the  beginning  of  the  war.  His  boss  sug- 
gested he  should,  but  Tam  apparently  held 
other  views,  went  into  a  shipyard  and  was 
"badged  and  reserved." 

They  combed  him  out  of  that,  and  he 
went  to  another  factory,  making  a  false  state- 

4 


THE  CASE  OF  LASKY 

ment  to  secure  the  substitution  of  the  badge 
he  had  lost.  He  was  unmarried  and  had 
none  dependent  on  him,  and  his  landlord, 
who  had  two  sons  righting,  suggested  to  Tarn 
that  though  he'd  hate  to  lose  a  good  lodger, 
he  didn't  think  the  country  ought  to  lose  a 
good  soldier. 

Tarn  changed  his  lodgings. 

He  moved  to  Glasgow  and  was  insulted 
by  a  fellow  workman  with  the  name  of  cow- 
ard. Tarn  hammered  his  fellow  workman 
insensible  and  was  fired  forthwith  from  his 
job. 

Every  subterfuge,  every  trick,  every  eva- 
sion and  excuse  he  could  invent  to  avoid 
service  in  the  army,  he  invented.  He  sim- 
ply did  not  want  to  be  a  soldier.  He  be- 
lieved most  passionately  that  the  war  had 
been  started  with  the  sole  object  of  afford- 
ing his  enemies  opportunities  for  annoying 
him. 

Then  one  day  he  was  sent  on  a  job  to  an 
aerodrome  workshop.  He  was  a  clever  me- 
chanic and  he  had  mastered  the  intricacies 

5 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

of  the  engine  which  he  was  to  repair,  in  less 
than  a  day. 

He  went  back  to  his  work  very  thought- 
fully, and  the  next  Sunday  he  bicycled  to 
the  aerodrome  in  his  best  clothes  and  re- 
newed his  acquaintance  with  the  mechanics. 

Within  a  week,  he  was  wearing  the  dou- 
ble-breasted tunic  of  the  Higher  Life.  He 
was  not  a  good  or  a  tractable  recruit.  He 
hated  discipline  and  regarded  his  superiors 
as  less  than  equals — but  he  was  an  enthusiast. 

When  Pangate,  which  is  in  the  south  of 
England,  sent  for  pilots  and  mechanics,  he 
accompanied  his  officer  and  flew  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life. 

In  the  old  days  he  could  not  look  out  of  a 
fourth-floor  window  without  feeling  giddy. 
Now  he  flew  over  England  at  a  height  of 
six  thousand  feet,  and  was  sorry  when  the 
journey  came  to  an  end.  In  a  few  months 
he  was  a  qualified  pilot,  and  might  have  re- 
ceived a  commission  had  he  so  desired. 

"Thank  ye,  sir-r,"  he  said  to  the  com- 
mandant, "but  ye  ken  weel  A'm  no  gentry. 

6 


THE  CASE  OF  LASKY 

M'  fairther  was  no  believer  in  education,  an' 
whilst  ither  laddies  were  livin'  on  meal  at 
the  University  A'  was  aiming  ma'  salt  at  the 
Govan  Iron  Wairks.  A'm  no'  a  society 
mon  ye  ken — A'd  be  usin'  the  wrong  knife 
to  eat  wi'  an'  that  would  bring  the  coorp 
into  disrepute." 

His  education  had,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
been  a  remarkable  one.  From  the  time  he 
could  read,  he  had  absorbed  every  boy's 
book  that  he  could  buy  or  borrow.  He  told 
a  friend  of  mine  that  when  he  enlisted  he 
handed  to  the  care  of  an  acquaintance  over 
six  hundred  paper-covered  volumes  which 
surveyed  the  world  of  adventure,  from  the 
Nevada  of  Deadwood  Dick  to  the  Australia 
of  Jack  Harkaway.  He  knew  the  stories 
by  heart,  their  phraseology  and  their  con- 
struction, and  was  wont  at  times,  half  in 
earnest,  half  in  dour  fun  (at  his  own  ex- 
pense), to  satirize  every-day  adventures  in 
the  romantic  language  of  his  favorite 
authors. 

He  was  regarded  as  the  safest,  the  most 
7 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

daring,  the  most  venomous  of  the  scouts — 
those  swift-flying  spitfires  of  the  clouds — 
and  enjoyed  a  fame  among  the  German  air- 
men which  was  at  once  flattering  and  omin- 
ous. Once  they  dropped  a  message  into 
the  aerodrome.  It  was  short  and  humorous, 
but  there  was  enough  truth  in  the  message 
to  give  it  a  bite: 

Let  us  know  when  Tarn  is  buried,  we  would  a 
wreath  subscribe. 

Officers,  German  Imperial  Air  Service. 

Section 

Nothing  ever  pleased  Tarn  so  much  as 
this  unsolicited  testimonial  to  his  prowess. 

He  purred  for  a  week.  Then  he  learned 
from  a  German  prisoner  that  the  author  of 
the  note  was  the  flyer  of  a  big  Aviatic,  and 
went  and  killed  him  in  fair  fight  at  a  height 
of  twelve  thousand  feet. 

"It  was  an  engrossin'  an'  thrillin'  fight," 
explained  Tarn;  "the  bluid  was  coorsin'  in 
ma  veins,  ma  hairt  was  palpitatin'  wi'  sup- 
pressed emotion.  Roond  an1  roond  ain  an- 
other the  dauntless  airmen  caircled,  the  noo 


THE  CASE  OF  LASKY 

above,  the  noo  below  the  ither.  Wi'  su- 
pairb  resolution  Tarn  o'  the  Scoots  nose- 
dived for  the  wee  feller's  tail,  loosin'  a  drum 
at  the  puir  body  as  he  endeavoured  to  escape 
the  lichtenin'  swoop  o'  the  intrepid  Scots- 
man. Wi'  matchless  skeel,  Tarn  o'  the 
Scoots  banked  over  an'  brocht  the  gallant 
miscreant  to  terra  firma — puir  laddie!  If 
he'd  kept  ben  the  hoose  he'd  no'  be  lyin'  deid 
the  nicht.     God  rest  him!" 

You  might  see  Tarn  in  the  early  morning, 
when  the  world  was  dark  and  only  the 
flashes  of  guns  revealed  the  rival  positions, 
poised  in  the  early  sun,  fourteen  thousand 
feet  in  the  air,  a  tiny  spangle  of  white, 
smaller  in  magnitude  than  the  fading  stars. 
He  seems  motionless,  though  you  know  that 
he  is  traveling  in  big  circles  at  seventy  miles 
an  hour. 

He  is  above  the  German  lines  and  the 
fleecy  bursts  of  shrapnel  and  the  darker 
patches  where  high  explosive  shells  are 
bursting  beneath  him,   advertise   alike  his 

9 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

temerity  and  the  indignation  of  the  enemy. 

What  is  Tarn  doing  there  so  early? 

There  has  been  a  big  raid  in  the  dark 
hours ;  a  dozen  bombing  machines  have  gone 
buzzing  eastward  to  a  certain  railway  sta- 
tion where  the  German  troops  waited  in 
readiness  to  reinforce  either  A  or  B  fronts. 
If  you  look  long,  you  see  the  machines  re- 
turning, a  group  of  black  specks  in  the 
morning  sky.  The  Boches'  scouts  are  up  to 
attack — the  raiders  go  serenely  onward, 
leaving  the  exciting  business  of  duel  a  I'out- 
rance  to  the  nippy  fighting  machines  which 
fly  above  each  flank.  One  such  fighter 
throws  himself  at  three  of  the  enemy,  div- 
ing, banking,  climbing,  circling  and  all  the 
time  firing  "ticka — ticka — ticka — ticka!" 
through  his  propellers. 

The  fight  is  going  badly  for  the  bold  fight- 
ing machine,  when  suddenly  like  a  hawk, 
Tarn  o'  the  Scoots  sweeps  upon  his  prey. 
One  of  the  enemy  side-slips,  dives  and 
streaks  to  the  earth,  leaving  a  cloud  of  smoke 


10 


THE  CASE  OF  LASKY 

to  mark  his  unsubstantial  path.  As  for  the 
others,  they  bank  over  and  go  home.  One 
falls  in  spirals  within  the  enemy's  lines. 
Rescuer  and  rescued  land  together.  The 
fighting-machine  pilot  is  Lieutenant  Burn- 
ley; the  observer,  shot  through  the  hand,  but 
cheerful,  is  Captain  Forsyn. 

"Did  ye  no1  feel  a  sense  o'  gratitude  to  the 
Almighty  when  you  kent  it  were  Tarn  sittin' 
aloft  like  a  wee  angel?" 

"I  thought  it  was  a  bombing  machine  that 
had  come  back,"  said  Burnley  untruthfully. 

"Did  ye  hear  that,  sir-rs?"  asked  Tarn 
wrathfully.  "For  a  grown  officer  an'  gen- 
tleman haulding  the  certeeficate  of  the 
Royal  Flying  Coorp,  to  think  ma  machine 
were  a  bomber !  Did  ye  no'  look  oop  an'  see 
me?  Did  ye  no'  look  thankfully  at  yeer 
obsairvor,  when,  wi'  a  hooricane  roar,  the 
Terror  of  the  Airr  hurtled  across  the  sky — 
'Saved!'  ye  said  to  yersel';  'saved — an'  by 
Tarn!  What  can  I  do  to  shaw  ma  appre- 
ciation of  the  hero's  devotion?     Why!'  ye 


11 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

said  to  yersel',  soodenly,  'Why!  A'll  gi' 
him  a  box  o'  seegairs  sent  to  me  by  ma  rich 
uncle  fra'  Glasgae — !'  " 

"You  can  have  two  cigars,  Tarn — I'll  see 
you  to  the  devil  before  I  give  you  any  more 
— I  only  had  fifty  in  the  first  place." 

"Two's  no'  many,"  said  Tarn  calmly,  "but 
A've  na  doot  A'll  enjoy  them  wi'  ma  edu- 
cated palate  better  than  you,  sir-r — seegairs 
are  for  men  an'  no'  for  bairns,  an'  ye'd  save 
yersel'  an  awfu'  feelin'  o'  seekness  if  ye  gave 
me  a'." 

Tarn  lived  with  the  men — he  had  the  rank 
of  sergeant,  but  he  was  as  much  Tarn  to  the 
private  mechanic  as  he  was  to  the  officers. 
His  pay  was  good  and  sufficient.  He  had 
shocked  that  section  of  the  Corps  Comforts 
Committee  which  devoted  its  energies  to  the 
collection  and  dispatch  of  literature,  by  re- 
questing that  a  special  effort  be  made  to 
keep  him  supplied  "wi'  th'  latest  bluids." 
A  member  of  the  Committee  with  a  sneak- 
ing regard  for  this  type  of  literature  took  it 
upon  himself  to  ransack  London  for  penny 

12 


THE  CASE  OF  LASKY 

dreadfuls,   and   Tam   received   a  generous 
stock  with  regularity. 

"Am  no'  so  fond  o'  th'  new  style,"  he 
said;  "the  detective  stoory  is  verra  guid  in 
its  way  for  hame  consumption,  but  A'  pre- 
fair  the  mair  preemative  discreeptions,  of 
how  that  grand  mon,  Deadwood  Dick, 
foiled  the  machinations  of  Black  Peter,  the 
Scoorge  of  Hell  Canon.  A've  no  soort  o' 
use  for  the  new  kind  o'  stoory — the  love- 
stoories  aboot  mooney.  Ye  ken  the  soort: 
Harild  is  feelin'  fine  an'  anxious  aboot  Lady 
Gwendoline's  bairthmark:  is  she  the  recht- 
fu1  heir?  Oh,  Heaven  help  me  to  solve  the 
meestry!  (To  be  continued  in  oor  next.) 
A'm  all  for  bluid  an'  fine  laddies  wi'  a  six- 
shooter  in  every  hand  an'  a  bowie-knife  in 
their  teeth — it's  no'  so  intellectual,  but,  mon, 
it's  mair  human!" 

Tam  was  out  one  fine  spring  afternoon  in 
a  one-seater  Morane.  He  was  on  guard 
watching  over  the  welfare  of  two  "spotters" 
who  were  correcting  the  fire  of  a  "grand- 

13 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

mother"  battery.  There  was  a  fair  breeze 
blowing  from  the  east,  and  it  was  bitterly 
cold,  but  Tarn  in  his  leather  jacket,  muffled 
to  the  eyes,  and  with  his  hands  in  fur-lined 
gloves  and  with  the  warmth  from  his  engine, 
was  comfortable  without  being  cozy. 

Far  away  on  the  eastern  horizon  he  saw 
a  great  cloud.  It  was  a  detached  and  im- 
perial cumulus,  a  great  frothy  pyramid  that 
sailed  in  majestic  splendor.  Tarn  judged  it 
to  be  a  mile  across  at  its  base  and  calculated 
its  height,  from  its  broad  base  to  its  feathery 
spirelike  apex,  at  another  mile. 

"There's  an  awfu'  lot  of  room  in  ye,"  he 
thought. 

It  was  moving  slowly  toward  him  and 
would  pass  him  at  such  a  level  that  did  he 
explore  it,  he  would  enter  half-way  between 
its  air  foundation  and  its  peak. 

He  signaled  with  his  wireless,  "Am  going 
to  explore  cloud,"  and  sent  his  Morane 
climbing. 

He  reached  the  misty  outskirts  of  the  mass 
14 


THE  CASE  OF  LASKY 

and  began  its  encirclement,  drawing  a  little 
nearer  to  its  center  with  every  circuit. 
Now  he  was  in  a  white  fog  which  afforded 
him  only  an  occasional  glimpse  of  the  earth. 
The  fog  grew  thicker  and  darker  and  he  re- 
turned again  to  the  outer  edge  because  there 
would  be  no  danger  in  the  center.  Gently 
he  declined  his  elevator  and  sank  to  a  lower 
level.  Then  suddenly,  beneath  him,  a  short 
shape  loomed  through  the  mist  and  vanished 
in  a  flash.  Tarn  had  a  tray  of  bombs  under 
the  fuselage — something  in  destructive 
quality  between  a  Mills  grenade  and  a 
three-inch  shell. 

He  waited.  .  .  . 

Presently — swish!  They  were  circling 
in  the  opposite  direction  to  Tarn,  which 
meant  that  the  object  passed  him  at  the  rate 
of  one  hundred  and  forty  miles  an  hour. 
But  he  had  seen  the  German  coming.  .  .  . 
Something  dropped  from  the  fuselage,  there 
was  the  rending  crash  of  an  explosion  and 
Tarn  dropped  a  little,  swerved  to  the  left 
and  was  out  in  clear  daylight  in  a  second. 
15 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

Back  he  streaked  to  the  British  lines,  his 
wireless  working  frantically. 

"Enemy  raiding  squadron  in  cloud — take 
the  edge  a  quarter  up." 

He  received  the  acknowledgment  and 
brought  his  machine  around  to  face  the 
lordly  bulk  of  the  cumulus. 

Then  the  British  Archies  began  their 
good  work. 

Shrapnel  and  high  explosives  burst  in  a 
storm  about  the  cloud.  Looking  down  he 
saw  fifty  stabbing  pencils  of  flame  flickering 
from  fifty  A-A  guns.  Every  available 
piece  of  anti-aircraft  artillery  was  turned 
upon  the  fleecy  mass. 

As  Tarn  circled  he  saw  white  specks  ris- 
ing swiftly  from  the  direction  of  the  aero- 
drome and  knew  that  the  fighting  squadron, 
full  of  fury,  was  on  its  way  up.  It  had 
come  to  be  a  tradition  in  the  wing  that  Tarn 
had  the  right  of  initiating  all  attack,  and  it 
was  a  right  of  which  he  was  especially  jeal- 
ous. Now,  with  the  great  cloud  disgorg- 
ing its  shadowy  guests,  he  gave  a  glance  at 
16 


THE  CASE  OF  LASKY 

his  Lewis  gun  and  drove  straight  for  his  en- 
emies. A  bullet  struck  the  fuselage  and 
ricocheted  past  his  ear;  another  ripped  a 
hole  in  the  canvas  of  his  wing.  He  looked 
up.  High  above  him,  and  evidently  a  fight- 
ing machine  that  had  been  hidden  in  the 
upper  banks  of  the  cloud,  was  a  stiffly  built 
Fokker. 

"Noo,  lassie!"  said  Tarn  and  nose-dived. 

Something  flashed  past  his  tail,  and  Tarn's 
machine  rocked  like  a  ship  at  sea.  He  flat- 
tened out  and  climbed.  The  British  Arch- 
ies had  ceased  fire  and  the  fight  was  be- 
tween machine  and  machine,  for  the  squad- 
ron was  now  in  position.  Tarn  saw  Lasky 
die  and  glimpsed  the  flaming  wreck  of  the 
boy's  machine  as  it  fell,  then  he  found  him- 
self attacked  on  two  sides.  But  he  was  the 
swifter  climber — the  faster  mover.  He 
shot  impartially  left  and  right  and  below — 
there  was  nothing  above  him  after  the  first 
surprise.  Then  something  went  wrong 
with  his  engines — they  missed,  started, 
missed  again,  went  on — then  stopped. 

17 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

He  had  turned  his  head  for  home  and  be- 
gun his  glide  to  earth. 

He  landed  near  a  road  by  the  side  of 
which  a  Highland  battalion  was  resting  and 
came  to  ground  without  mishap.  He  un- 
strapped himself  and  descended  from  the 
fuselage  slowly,  stripped  off  his  gloves  and 
walked  to  where  the  interested  infantry  were 
watching  him. 

"Where  are  ye  gaun?"  he  asked,  for 
Tarn's  besetting  vice  was  an  unquenchable 
curiosity. 

"To  the  trenches  afore  Masille,  sir-r," 
said  the  man  he  addressed. 

"Ye'll  no'  be  callin'  me  'sir-r,'  "  reproved 
Tarn.  "A'm  a  s-arrgent.  Hoo  lang  will 
ye  stay  in  the  trenches  up  yon?" 

"Foor  days,  Sergeant,"  said  the  man. 

"Foor  days — guid  Lord!"  answered  Tarn. 
"A'  wouldn't  do  that  wairk  for  a  thoosand 
poonds  a  week." 

"It's  no'  so  bad,"  said  half-a-dozen  voices. 

"Ut's  verra,  verra  dangerous,"  said  Tarn, 
shaking  his  head.     "A'm  thankitfu'  A'm  no' 

18 


THE  CASE  OF  LASKY 

a  soldier — they  tried  haird  to  make  me  ain, 
but  A'  said,  'Noo,  laddie — gie  me  a  job — '  " 

"Whoo!" 

A  roar  like  the  rush  of  an  express  train 
through  a  junction,  and  Tarn  looked  around 
in  alarm.  The  enemy's  heavy  shell  struck 
the  ground  midway  between  him  and  his 
machine  and  threw  up  a  great  column  of 
mud. 

"Mon!"  said  Tarn  in  alarm.  "A'  thocht 
it  were  goin'  straicht  for  ma  wee  machine." 

"What  happened  to  you,  Tarn?"  asked  the 
wing  commander. 

Tarn  cleared  his  throat. 

"Patrollin'  by  order  the  morn,"  he  said, 
"ma  suspeecions  were  aroused  by  the  erratic 
movements  of  a  graund  clood.  To  think, 
wi'  Tarn  the  Scoot,  was  to  act.  Wi'oot  a 
thocht  for  his  ain  parrsonal  safety,  the  gal- 
lant laddie  brocht  his  machine  to  the  clood 
i'  question,  caircling  through  its  oombrag- 
eous  depths.  It  was  a  fine  gay  sicht — aloon 
i'  th'  sky,  he  ventured  into  the  air-r-lions' 

19 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

den.  What  did  he  see?  The  clood  was  a 
nest  o'  wee  horrnets!  Slippin'  a  bomb  he 
dashed  madly  back  to  the  ooter  air-r  sendin' 
his  S.  O.  S.  wi'  baith  hands — thanks  to 
his—" 

He  stopped  and  bit  his  lip  thoughtfully. 

"Come,  Tarn!"  smiled  the  officer,  "that's 
a  lame  story  for  you." 

"Oh,  ay,"  said  Tarn.  "A'm  no'  in  the 
recht  speerit — Hoo  mony  did  we  lose?" 

"Mr.  Lasky  and  Mr.  Brand,"  said  the 
wing  commander  quietly. 

"Puir  laddies,"  said  Tarn.  He  sniffed. 
"Mr.  Lasky  was  a  bonnie  lad — A'll  ask  ye  to 
excuse  me,  Captain  Thompson,  sir-r.  A'm 
no  feelin'  verra  weel  the  day — ye've  no  a 
seegair  aboot  ye  that  ye  wilna  be  wantin'?" 


20 


CHAPTER  II 

PUPPIES  OF  THE  PACK 

Tam  was  not  infallible,  and  the  working 
out  of  his  great  "thochts"  did  not  always  jus- 
tify the  confidence  which  he  reposed  in 
them.  His  idea  of  an  "invisible  aeroplane," 
for  example,  which  was  to  be  one  painted 
sky  blue  that  would  "hairmonise  wi'  the 
blaw  skies,"  was  not  a  success,  nor  was  his 
scheme  for  the  creation  of  artificial  clouds 
attended  by  any  encouraging  results.  But 
Tarn's  "Attack  Formation  for  Bombing  En- 
emy Depots"  attained  to  the  dignity  of  print, 
and  was  confidentially  circulated  in  French, 
English,  Russian,  Italian,  Serbian,  Japanese 
and  Rumanian. 

The  pity  is  that  a  Scottish  edition  was  not 
prepared  in  Tarn's  own  language;  and  Cap- 
21 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

tain  Blackie,  who  elaborated  Tarn's  rough 
notes  and  condensed  into  a  few  lines  Tarn's 
most  romantic  descriptions,  had  suggested 
such  an  edition  for  very  private  circulation. 

It  would  have  begun  somewhat  like  this: 

"The  Hoon  or  Gairman  is  a  verra  bonnie 
fichter,  but  he  has  nae  ineetiative.  He 
squints  oop  in  the  morn  an'  he  speers  a  fine 
machine  ower  by  his  lines. 

"  'Hoot!'  says  he,  'yon  wee  feller  is  Scot- 
tish, A'm  thinkin' — go  you,  Fritz  an'  Hans 
an'  Carl  an'  Heinrich,  an'  strafe  the  puir 
body.' 

"  'Nay,'  says  his  oonder  lootenant. 
'Nein,'  he  says,  'ye  daunt  knaw  what  ye're 
askin',  Herr  Lootenant.' 

"  'What's  wrong  wi'  ye?'  says  the  oberloo- 
tenant.  'Are  ye  Gairman  heroes  or  just 
low-doon  Austreens  that  ye  fear  ain  wee 
bairdie?' 

"  'Lootenant,'  say  they,  'yon  feller  is  Tarn 
o'  the  Scoots,  the  Brigand  o'  the  Stars!' 

"'Ech!'  he  says.  'Gang  oop,  ain  o'  ye, 
an'  ask  the  lad  to  coom  doon  an'  tak'  a  soop 
22 


PUPPIES  OF  THE  PACK 

wi'  us — we  maun  keep  on  the  recht  side  o' 
Tarn!'" 

All  this  and  more  would  have  gone  to 
form  the  preliminary  chapter  of  the  true 
version  of  Tarn's  code  of  attack. 

"He's  a  rum  bird,  is  Tarn,"  said  Captain 
Blackie  at  breakfast;  "he  brought  down  von 
Zeidlitz  yesterday." 

"Is  von  Zeidlitz  down?"  demanded  half 
a  dozen  voices,  and  Blackie  nodded. 

"He  was  a  good,  clean  fighter,"  said  young 
Carter  regretfully.  "When  did  you  hear 
this,  sir?" 

"This  morning,  through  H.  Q.  Intelli- 
gence." 

"Tarn  will  be  awfully  bucked,"  said  some- 
body. "He  was  complaining  yesterday  that 
life  was  getting  too  monotonous.  By  the 
way,  we  ought  to  drop  a  wreath  for  poor 
old  von  Zeidlitz." 

"Tarn  will  do  it  with  pleasure,"  said 
Blackie;  "he  always  liked  von  Zeidlitz — 
he  called  him  'Fritz  Fokker'  ever  since  the 
23 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

day   von   Zeidlitz   nearly   got   Tarn's   tail 
down." 

An  officer  standing  by  the  window  with 
his  hands  thrust  into  his  pockets  called  over 
his  shoulder: 

"Here  comes  Tarn." 

The  thunder  and  splutter  of  the  scout's  en- 
gine came  to  them  faintly  as  Tarn's  swift 
little  machine  came  skimming  across  the 
broad  ground  of  the  aerodrome  and  in  a  few 
minutes  Tarn  was  walking  slowly  toward 
the  office,  stripping  his  gloves  as  he  went. 

Blackie  went  out  to  him. 

"Hello,  Tarn — anything  exciting?" 

Tarn  waved  his  hand — he  never  saluted. 

"Will  ye  gang  an'  tak'.a  look  at  me  een- 
struments?"  he  asked  mysteriously. 

"Why,  Tarn?" 

"Will  ye,  sir-r?" 

Captain  Blackie  walked  over  to  the  ma- 
chine and  climbed  up  into  the  fuselage. 
What  he  saw  made  him  gasp,  and  he  came 
back  to  where  Tarn  was  standing,  smug  and 
self-conscious. 

24 


PUPPIES  OF  THE  PACK 

"You've  been  up  to  twenty-eight  thousand 
feet,  Tarn?"  asked  the  astonished  Blackie. 
"Why,  that  is  nearly  a  record!" 

"A'  doot  ma  baromeeter,"  said  Tarn;  "if 
A'  were  no'  at  fochty  thousand,  A'm  a 
Boche." 

Blackie  laughed. 

"You're  not  a  Boche,  Tarn,"  he  said,  "and 
you  haven't  been  to  forty  thousand  feet — no 
human  being  can  rise  eight  miles.  To  get 
up  five  and  a  half  miles  is  a  wonderful 
achievement.     Why  did  you  do  it?" 

Tarn  grinned  and  slapped  his  long  gloves 
together. 

"For  peac.  an'  quiet,"  he  said.  "A've 
been  chased  by  thairty  air  Hoons  that  got 
'twixt  me  an'  ma  breakfast,  so  A'  went  oop 
a  bit  an'  a  bit  more  an'  two  fellers  came  be- 
hint  me.  There's  an  ould  joke  that  A've 
never  understood  before — 'the  higher  the 
fewer' — it's  no'  deefficult  to  understand  it 
noo." 

"You  got  back  all  right,  anyhow,"  said 
Blackie. 

25 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

"Aloon  i'  the  vast  an'  silent  spaces  of  the 
vaulted  heavens,"  said  Tarn  in  his  sing-song 
tones  which  invariably  accompanied  his 
narratives,  "the  Young  Avenger  of  the 
Cloods,  Tarn  the  Scoot,  focht  his  ficht.  At- 
tacked by  owerwhelmin'  foorces,  shot  at 
afore  an'  behint,  the  noble  laddie  didna  lose 
his  nairve.  Mutterin'  a  brief — a  verra 
brief — prayer  that  the  Hoons  would  be 
strafed,  he  climbt  an'  climbt  till  he  could  'a' 
strook  a  match  on  the  moon.  After  him 
wi'  set  lips  an'  flashin'  een  came  the  bluidy- 
minded  ravagers  of  Belgium,  Serbia  an — 
A'm  afreed — Roomania.  Theer  bullets 
whistled  aboot  his  lugs  but, 

"His  eyes  were  bricht, 
His  hairt  were  licht, 
For  Tarn  the  Scoot  was  fu'  o'  ficht — 

"That's  a  wee  poem  A'  made  oop  oot  o' 
ma  ain  heid,  Captain,  at  a  height  of  twenty- 
three  thoosand  feet.  A'm  thinkin'  it's  the 
highest  poem  in  the  wairld." 

"And  you're  not  far  wrong — well,  what 
happened?" 

26 


PUPPIES  OF  THE  PACK 

"A'  got  hame."  said  Tim  grimly,  "an1  ain 
•.   d  Hoons  did  no'  get  hame.     Moo!     It 
took  him  an  awfu1  long  time  :    I 

He  went  :  ff  tc   his  breakfast  and  later, 

when  Blackie  came  in  search  for  him, 
found  him  lying  on  his  bed  smoking  a  long 
:k  cigar,  his  eyes  glued  to  the  pages  of 
"Texas    Tom.    or    the    Road    Agent's    Re- 
venge." 

"I  forgot  to  tell  you.  Tar.:."  ?aid  Captain 
Blackie.  "that  von  Zeidlitz  is  down." 

"Doon?"    said    Tarn.    "  'Fritz    Fokker1 
n?     Puir     laddie!     He     were     a     gay 
fichter — who  straffit  him?" 

"You  did — he  was  the  man  you  shot  down 
yesterday."' 

Tarn's  eves  were  bright  with  excitement. 

"Ye're  fulin'  me  noo?"  he  asked  eagerly. 
"It  wisna  me  that  straffit  him?  Puir  auld 
Freetzl  It  were  a  bonnie  an1  a  carefu1  shot 
I  got  him.  He  wis  above  me,  d'ye  ken? 
'Ah  naw!'  says  I.  'Ye'll  no  try  mat  tail- 
bitin"  trick  on  Tarn."  says  I :  'naw.  Freetz — !' 
An'  I  maneuvered  to  miss  him.  I  put  a 
*1 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

drum  into  him  at  close  range  an'  the  puir 
feller  side-slippit  an'  nose-dived.  Noo  was 
it  Freetz,  then?     Weel,  weel!" 

"We  want  you  to  take  a  wreath  over — 
he'll  be  buried  at  Ludezeel." 

"With  the  verra  greatest  pleasure,"  said 
Tarn  heartily,  "and  if  ye'll  no  mind,  Cap- 
tain, A'd  like  to  compose  a  wee  vairse  to  pit 
in  the  box." 

For  two  hours  Tarn  struggled  heroically 
with  his  composition.  At  the  end  of  that 
time  he  produced  with  awkward  and  un- 
usual diffidence  a  poem  written  in  his 
sprawling  hand  and  addressed: 

Dedication  to  Mr.  Von  Sidlits 
By  Tarn  of  the  Scouts 

"I'll  read  you  the  poem,  Captain  Blackie, 
sir-r,"  said  Tarn  nervously,  and  after  much 
coughing  he  read: 

"A  graund  an'  nooble  clood 
Was  the  flyin'  hero's  shrood 
Who  dies  at  half-past  seven 
And  he  verra  well  desairves 
28 


PUPPIES  OF  THE  PACK 

The  place  that  God  resairves 
For  the  men  who  die  in  Heaven. 

"A've  signed  it,  lKind  regards  an'  deepest 
sympathy  wi'  a'  his  loved  ains,'  "  said  Tarn. 
"A'  didna  say  A'  killit  him — it  would  no  be 
delicate." 

The  wreath  in  a  tin  box,  firmly  corded 
and  attached  to  a  little  parachute,  was 
placed  in  the  fuselage  of  a  small  Morane — 
his  own  machine  being  in  the  hands  of  the 
mechanics — and  Tarn  climbed  into  the  seat. 
In  five  minutes  he  was  pushing  up  at  the 
steep  angle  which  represented  the  extreme 
angle  at  which  a  man  can  fly.  Tarn  never 
employed  a  lesser  one. 

He  had  learnt  just  what  an  aeroplane 
could  do,  and  it  was  exactly  all  that  he 
called  for.  Soon  he  was  above  the  lines 
and  was  heading  for  Ludezeel.  Archies 
blazed  and  banged  at  him,  leaving  a  trail  of 
puff  balls  to  mark  his  course;  an  enemy 
scout  came  out  of  the  clouds  to  engage 
him  and  was  avoided,  for  the  corps  made 
it  a  point  of  honor  not  to  fight  when  en- 
29 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

gaged   on   such   a  mission   as  was  Tarn's. 

Evidently  the  enemy  scout  realized  the 
business  of  this  lone  British  flyer  and  must 
have  signaled  his  views  to  the  earth,  for  the 
anti-aircraft  batteries  suddenly  ceased  fire, 
and  when,  approaching  Ludezeel,  Tarn 
sighted  an  enemy  squadron  engaged  in  a 
practise  flight,  they  opened  out  and  made 
way  for  him,  offering  no  molestation. 

Tarn  began  to  plane  down.  He  spotted 
the  big  white-speckled  cemetery  and  saw  a 
little  procession  making  its  way  to  the 
grounds.  He  came  down  to  a  thousand  feet 
and  dropped  his  parachute.  He  saw  it 
open  and  sail  earthward  and  then  some  one 
on  the  ground  waved  a  white  handkerchief. 

"Guid,"  said  Tarn,  and  began  to  climb 
homeward. 

The  next  day  something  put  out  of  action 
the  engine  of  that  redoubtable  fighter,  Baron 
von  Hansen-Bassermann,  and  he  planed 
down  to  the  British  aerodrome  with  his  ma- 
chine flaming. 

30 


PUPPIES  OF  THE  PACK 

A  dozen  mechanics  dashed  into  the  blaze 
and  hauled  the  German  to  safety,  and,  be- 
yond a  burnt  hand  and  a  singed  mustache, 
he  was  unharmed. 

Lieutenant  Baron  von  Hansen-Basser- 
mann  was  a  good-looking  youth.  He  was, 
moreover,  an  undergraduate  of  Oxford  Uni- 
versity and  his  English  was  perfect. 

"Hard  luck,  sir,"  said  Blackie,  and  the 
baron  smiled. 

"Fortunes  of  war.  Where's  Tarn?"  he 
asked. 

"Tarn's  up-stairs  somewhere,"  said 
Blackie.  He  looked  up  at  the  unflecked 
blue  of  the  sky,  shading  his  eyes.  "He's 
been  gone  two  hours." 

The  baron  nodded  and  smiled  again. 

"Then  it  was  Tarn!"  he  said.  "I  thought 
I  knew  his  touch — does  he  'loop'  to  express 
his  satisfaction?" 

"That's  Tarn!"  said  a  chorus  of  voices. 

"He  was  sitting  in  a  damp  cloud  waiting 
for  me,"  said  the  baron  ruefully.  "But  who 
was  the  Frenchman  with  him?" 

31 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

Blackie  looked  puzzled. 

"Frenchman?  There  isn't  a  French  ma- 
chine within  fifty  miles;  did  he  attack  you, 
too?" 

"No — he  just  sat  around  watching  and 
approving.  I  had  the  curious  sense  that  I 
was  being  butchered  to  make  a  Frenchman's 
holiday.  It  is  curious  how  one  gets  those 
quaint  impressions  in  the  air — it  is  a  sort 
of  ninth  sense.  I  had  a  feeling  that  Tarn 
was  'showing  ofT — in  fact,  I  knew  it  was 
Tarn,  for  that  reason." 

"Come  and  have  some  breakfast  before 
you're  herded  into  captivity  with  the  brutal 
soldiery,"  said  Blackie,  and  they  all  went 
into  the  mess-room  together,  and  for  an  hour 
the  room  rang  with  laughter,  for  both  the 
baron  and  Captain  Blackie  were  excellent 
raconteurs. 

Tarn,  when  he  returned,  had  little  to  say 
about  his  mysterious  companion  in  the  air. 
He  thought  it  was  a  "French  laddie."  Nor 
had  he  any  story  to  tell  about  the  driving 
down  of  the  baron's  machine.     He  could 


PUPPIES  OF  THE  PACK 

only  say  that  he  "kent"  the  baron  and  had 
met  his  Albatross  before.  He  called  him 
the  "Croon  Prince"  because  the  black 
crosses  painted  on  his  wings  were  of  a  more 
elaborate  design  than  was  usual. 

"You  might  meet  the  baron,  Tarn,"  said 
the  wing  commander.  "He's  just  off  to 
the  Cage,  and  he  wants  to  say  'How-d'-ye- 
do.'" 

Tarn  met  the  prisoner  and  shook  hands 
with  great  solemnity. 

"Hoo  air  ye,  sir-r?"  he  asked  with  admir- 
able sang-froid.  "A'  seem  to  remember  yer 
face  though  A'  hae  no'  met  ye — only  to  shoot 
at,  an'  that  spoils  yeer  chance  o'  gettin'  ac- 
quainted wi'  a  body." 

"I  think  we've  met  before,"  said  the  baron 
with  a  grim  little  smile.  "Oh,  before  I  for- 
get, we  very  much  appreciated  your  poem, 
Tarn;  there  are  lines  in  it  which  were  quite 
beautiful." 

Tarn  flushed  crimson  with  pleasure. 

"Thank  ye,  sir-r,"  he  blurted.  "Ye 
33 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

couldna'  'a'  made  me  more  pleased — even  if 
A'  killit  ye." 

The  baron  threw  back  his  head  and 
laughed. 

"Good-by,  Tarn — take  care  of  yourself. 
There's  a  new  man  come  to  us  who  will  give 
you  some  trouble." 

"It's  no'  Mister  MacMuller?"  asked  Tarn 
eagerly. 

"Oh — you've  heard  of  Captain  Muller?" 
asked  the  prisoner  interestedly. 

"Haird? — good  Lord,  mon — sir-r,  A' 
mean — look  here!" 

He  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  pro- 
duced a  worn  leather  case.  From  this  he 
extracted  two  or  three  newspaper  cuttings 
and  selected  one,  headed  "German  Official." 

"  'Captain  Muller,'  "  read  Tarn,  "  'yester- 
day shot  doon  his  twenty-sixth  aeroplane.'  " 

"That's  Muller,"  said  the  other  carefully. 
"I  can  tell  you  no  more — except  look  after 
yourself." 

"Ha'e  na  doot  aboot  that,  sir-r,"  said  Tarn 
with  confidence. 

34 


PUPPIES  OF  THE  PACK 

He  went  up  that  afternoon  in  accordance 
with  instructions  received  from  headquar- 
ters to  "search  enemy  territory  west  of  a  line 
from  Montessier  to  St.  Pierre  le  Petit." 

He  made  his  search,  and  sailed  down  with 
his  report  as  the  sun  reached  the  horizon. 

"A  verra  quiet  joorney,"  he  complained, 
"A'  was  hopin'  for  a  squint  at  Mr.  Mac- 
Muller,  but  he  was  sleeping  like  a  door- 
moose — A'  haird  his  snoor  risin'  to  heaven 
an'  ma  hairt  wis  sick  wi'  disappointed  long- 
in'.  'Hoo  long,'  A'  says,  'hoo  long  will  ye 
avoid  the  doom  Tarn  o'  the  Scoots  has 
marked  ye  doon  for?'  There  wis  naw  re- 
ply." 

"I've  discovered  Tarn's  weird  pal,"  said 
Blackie,  coming  into  the  mess  before  lunch 
the  next  day.  "He  is  Claude  Beaumont  of 
the  American  Squadron — Lefevre,  the  wing 
commander,  was  up  to-day.  Apparently 
Beaumont  is  an  exceedingly  rich  young  man 
who  has  equipped  a  wing  with  its  own  ma- 
chines, hangars  and  repair-shop,  and  he  flies 
where  he  likes.     Look  at  'em!" 

35 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

They  crowded  out  with  whatever  glasses 
they  could  lay  their  hands  upon  and 
watched  the  two  tiny  machines  that  circled 
and  dipped,  climbed  and  banked  about  one 
another. 

First  one  would  dart  away  with  the  other 
in  pursuit,  then  the  chaser,  as  though  des- 
pairing of  overtaking  his  quarry,  would 
turn  back.  The  "hare"  would  then  turn 
and  chase  the  other. 

"Have  you  ever  seen  two  puppies  at 
play?"  asked  Blackie.  "Look  at  Tarn  chas- 
ing his  tail — and  neither  man  knows  the 
other  or  has  ever  looked  upon  his  face! 
Isn't  it  weird?  That's  von  Hansen-Basser- 
mann's  ninth  sense.  They  can't  speak — 
they  can't  even  see  one  another  properly  and 
yet  they're  good  pals — look  at  'em.  I've 
watched  the  puppies  of  the  pack  go  on  in 
exactly  the  same  way." 

"What  is  Tarn  supposed  to  be  doing?" 

"He's  watching  the  spotters.  Tarn  will 
be  down  presently  and  we'll  ask  David  how 

36 


PUPPIES  OF  THE  PACK 

he  came  to  meet  Jonathan — this  business  has 
been  going  on  for  weeks." 

Tarn  had  received  the  recall  signal.  Be- 
neath him  he  saw  the  two  "spotters"  return- 
ing home,  and  he  waved  his  hand  to  his 
sporting  companion  and  came  round  in  a 
little  more  than  twice  his  own  length.  He 
saw  his  strange  friend's  hand  raised  in  ac- 
knowledgment, and  watched  him  turn  for 
the  south.  Tarn  drove  on  for  a  mile,  then 
something  made  him  look  back. 

Above  his  friend  was  a  glittering  white 
dragon-fly,  and  as  he  looked  the  fly  darted 
down  at  the  American  tail. 

"Missed  him!"  said  Tarn,  and  swung 
round.  He  was  racing  with  the  wind  at  top 
speed  and  he  must  have  been  doing  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty  miles  an  hour,  but  for  the 
fact  that  he  was  climbing  at  the  extreme  an- 
gle. He  saw  the  dragon-fly  loop  and  climb 
and  the  American  swing  about  to  attack. 

But  his  machine  was  too  slow — that  Tarn 
knew.  Nothing  short  of  a  miracle  could 
save  the  lower  machine,  for  the  enemy  had 
37 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

again  reached  the  higher  position.  So  en- 
grossed was  he  with  his  plan  that  he  did  not 
see  Tarn  until  the  Scot  was  driving  blindly 
to  meet  him — until  the  first  shower  from 
Tarn's  Lewis  gun  rained  on  wing  and  fusel- 
age. The  German  swerved  in  his  drive  and 
missed  his  proper  prey.  Tarn  was  behind 
him  and  above  him,  but  in  no  position  to 
attack.  He  could,  and  did  fire  a  drum  into 
the  fleeing  foeman,  but  none  of  the  shots 
took  effect. 

"Tairn  him,  Archie!"  groaned  Tarn,  and 
as  though  the  earth  gunners  had  heard  his 
plea,  a  screen  of  bursting  shrapnel  rose  be- 
fore the  dragon-fly.  He  turned  and  nose- 
dived with  Tarn  behind  him,  but  now  his 
nose  was  for  home,  and  Tarn,  after  a  five- 
mile  pursuit,  came  round  and  made  for 
home  also.  Near  his  own  lines  he  came  up 
with  the  circling  "Frenchman"  and  received 
his  thanks — four  fingers  extended  in  the  air 
— before  the  signaler,  taking  a  route  within 
the  lines,  streaked  for  home. 

"Phew!"  said  Tarn,  shaking  his  head. 
38 


PUPPIES  OF  THE  PACK 

"Who  were  you  chasing?"  asked  Blackie. 
"He  can  go!"  " 

"Yon's  MacMuller,"  said  Tarn,  jerking 
his  thumb  at  the  eastern  sky.  "He's  a  verra 
likeable  feller — but  a  wee  bit  too  canny  an' 
a  big  bit  too  fast.  Captain  Blackie,  sir-r, 
can  ye  no  get  me  a  machine  that  can  flee? 
Ma  wee  machine  is  no'  unlike  a  hairse,  but 
A'm  wishfu'  o'  providin'  the  coorpse." 

"You've  got  the  fastest  machine  in 
France,  Tarn,"  said  the  captain. 

Tarn  nodded. 

"It's  verra  likely — she  wis  no'  runnin'  so 
sweet,"  he  confessed.  "But,  mon!  That 
Muller!  He's  a  braw  Hoon  an'  A'm  en- 
couraged by  the  fine  things  that  the  baron 
said  aboot  ma  poetry.  Ech!  A've  got  a 
graund  vairse  in  ma  heid  for  Mr.  Muller's 
buryin'!  Hae  ye  a  seegair  aboot  ye,  Cap- 
tain Blackie?  A'  gave  ma  case  to  the  Duke 
of  Argyle  an'  he  has  no'  retairned  it." 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  COMING  OF  MULLER 

There  arrived  one  day  at  the  aerodrome 
a  large  packing-case  addressed  "Sergeant 
Tarn."  There  was  no  surname,  though 
there  was  no  excuse  for  the  timidity  which 
stopped  short  at  "Tarn."  The  consignor 
might,  at  least,  have  ventured  to  add  a  ten- 
tative and  inquiring  "Mac?" 

Tarn  took  the  case  into  his  little  "bunk" 
and  opened  it.  The  stripping  of  the  rough 
outer  packing  revealed  a  suave,  unpolished 
cedar  cabinet  with  two  doors  and  a  key  that 
dangled  from  one  of  the  knobs.  Tarn 
opened  the  case  after  some  consideration 
and  disclosed  shelf  upon  shelf  tightly 
packed  with  bundles  of  rich,  brown,  fra- 
grant cigars. 

There  was  a  card  inscribed: 
40 


THE  COMING  OF  MULLER 

"Your  friend  in  the  Merman  pusher." 

"Who,"  demanded  Tarn,  "is  ma  low  ac- 
queentance,  who  dispoorts  himsel'  in  an 
oot-o'-date  machine?" 

Young  Carter,  who  had  come  in  to  inspect 
the  unpacking,  offered  a  suggestion. 

"Probably  the  French  machine  that  is  al- 
ways coming  over  here  to  see  you,"  he  said, 
"Mr.  Thiggamy-tight,  the  American." 

"Ah,  to  be  sure  1"  said  Tarn  relieved.  "A' 
thocht  maybe  the  Kaiser  had  sent  me 
droogged  seegairs — A'm  an  awfu'  thorn  in 
the  puir  laddie's  side.  Ye  may  laugh,  Mis- 
ter Carter,  but  A'  reca'  a  case  wheer  a  bon- 
nie  detective  wi'  the  same  name  as  ye'sel', 
though  A'  doot  if  he  wis  related  to  ye,  was 
foiled  by  the  machinations  o'  Ferdie  the 
Foorger  at  the  moment  o'  his  triumph  by 
the  lad  gieing  him  a  seegair  soaked  in  laud'- 
num  an'  chlorofor-rm!" 

He  took  a  bundle,  slipped  out  two  cigars, 
offered  one  to  his  officer,  after  a  brief  but 
baffling  examination  to  discover  which  was 
the  worse,  and  lit  the  other. 
41 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

''They're  no'  so  bad,"  he  admitted,  "but 
yeer  ain  seegairs  never  taste  so  bonnie  as  the 
seegairs  yeer  frien's  loan  ye." 

aThey  came  in  time,"  said  Carter;  "we'd 
started  a  League  for  the  Suppression  of 
Cigar  Cadging." 

"Maybe  ye  thocht  o'  makin'  me  treesurer? 
Navv?  Ah  weel,  a  wee  seegair  is  no  muckle 
to  gie  a  body  wha's  brocht  fame  an'  honor 
to  the  Wing." 

"I  often  wonder,  Tarn,"  said  Carter, 
"how  much  you're  joking  and  laughing  at 
yourself  when  you're  talking  about  'Tarn, 
the  Terror  of  the  Clouds,'  and  how  much 
you're  in  earnest." 

A  fleeting  smile  flickered  for  a  second 
about  Tarn's  mouth  and  vanished. 

"In  all  guid  wairks  of  reference,  fra' 
Auld  Morre's  Almanac  to  the  Clyede  River 
Time-Table,"  he  said  soberly,  "it's  written 
that  a  Scotsman  canna  joke.  If  A'd  no  talk 
about  Tarn — would  ye  talk  aboot  y'rsel's? 
Naw!  Ye'd  go  oop  an'  doon,  fichtin'  an' 
deein'  wi'oot  a  waird.  If  ye'll  talk  aboot 
42 


THE  COMING  OF  MULLER 

ye'sel's  A'll  no  talk  aboot  Tarn.  A'  knaw 
ma  duty,  Mister  Carter — A'm  the  offeecial 
boaster  o'  the  wing  an'  the  coor,  an'  whin 
they  bring  me  doon  wi'  a  bullet  in  ma  heid, 
A1  hope  ye'll  engage  anither  like  me." 

"There  isn't  another  like  you,  Tarn," 
laughed  Carter. 

"Ye  dinna  knaw  Glasca,'  "  replied  Tarn 
darkly. 

Lieutenant  Carter  went  up  on  "a  tour  of 
duty1'  soon  after  and  Tarn  was  on  the  ground 
to  watch  his  departure. 

"Tarn,"  he  shouted,  before  the  controls 
were  in,  "I  liked  that  cigar — I'll  take  fifty 
from  you  to-night." 

"Ower  ma  deid  body,"  said  Tarn,  puffing 
contentedly  at  the  very  last  inch  of  his  own; 
"the  watch-wairds  o'  victory  are  'threeft  an' 
economy'!" 

"I've  warned  you,"  roared  Carter,  for 
now  the  engine  was  going. 

Tarn  nodded  a  smiling  farewell  as  the 
machine  skipped  and  ran  over  the  ground 
43 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

before    it    swooped    upward    into    space. 

He  went  back  to  his  room,  but  had  hardly 
settled  himself  to  the  examination  of  a  new 
batch  of  blood-curdling  literature  before 
Blackie  strode  in. 

"Mr.  Carter's  down,  Tarn,"  he  said. 

"Doon!" 

Tarn  jumped  up,  a  frown  on  his  face. 

"Shot  dead  and  fell  inside  our  lines — go 
up  and  see  if  you  can  find  Muller." 

Tarn  dressed  slowly.  Behind  the  mask 
of  his  face,  God  knows  what  sorrow  lay,  for 
he  was  fond  of  the  boy,  as  he  had  been  fond 
of  so  many  boys  who  had  gone  up  in  the  joy 
and  pride  of  their  youth,  and  had  earned 
by  the  supreme  sacrifice  that  sinister  line  in 
the  communiques:  "One  of  our  machines 
did  not  return." 

He  ranged  the  heavens  that  day  seeking 
his  man.  He  waited  temptingly  in  reach- 
able places  and  even  lured  one  of  his  ene- 
mies to  attack  him. 

"There's  something  down,"  said  Blackie, 
as  a  flaming  German  aeroplane  shot  down- 
44 


THE  COMING  OF  MULLER 

ward  from  the  clouds.     "But  I'm  afraid  it's 
not  Miiller  this  time." 

It  was  not.  Tarn  returned  morose 
and  uncommunicative.  His  anger  was  in- 
creased when  the  intercepted  wireless  came 
to  hand  in  the  evening: 

"Captain  Miiller  shot  down  his  twenty- 
seventh  aeroplane." 

That  night,  when  the  mess  was  sitting 
around  after  dinner,  Tarn  appeared  with  a 
big  armful  of  cigars. 

"What's  the  matter  with  'em?"  asked 
Blackie  in  mock  alarm. 

"They're  a'  that  Mister  Carter  bocht," 
said  Tarn  untruthfully,  "an'  A'  thocht  ye'd 
wish  to  ha'e  a  few  o'  the  laddie's  seegairs." 

Nobody  was  deceived.  They  pooled  the 
cigars  for  the  mess  and  Tarn  went  back  to 
his  quarters  lighter  of  heart.  He  slept 
soundly  and  was  wakened  an  hour  before 
dawn  by  his  batman. 

"  'The  weary  roond,  the  deely  task,' " 
quoted  Tarn,  taking  the  steaming  mug  of  tea 
from  his  servant's  hands.  "What  likes  the 
mornin',  Horace?" 

45 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

"Fine,  Sergeant — clear  sky  an'  all  the 
stars  are  out." 

"Fine  for  them,"  said  Tarn  sarcastically, 
"they've  nawthin'  to  do  but  be  oot  or  in — 
A've  no  patience  wi'  the  stars — puir  silly 
bodies  winkin'  an'  blinkin'  an'  doin'  nae 
guid  to  mon  or  beastie — chuck  me  ma 
breeches  an'  let  the  warm  watter  rin  in  the 
bath." 

In  the  gray  light  of  dawn  the  reliefs  stood 
on  the  ground,  waiting  for  the  word  "go." 

"A'  wonder  what  ma  frien'  MacMuller 
is  thinkin'  the  morn?"  asked  Tarn;  "wi'  a 
wan  face  an'  a  haggaird  een,  he'll  be  takin' 
a  moornful  farewell  o'  the  Croon  Prince 
Ruppect. 

"  'Ye're  a  brave  lad,'  says  the  Croon 
Prince,  'but  maybe  Tarn's  awaV 

"  'Naw,'  says  MacMuller,  shakin'  his 
heid,  'A've  a  presentiment  that  Tarn's  no' 
awa'.  He'll  be  oop-stairs  waitin'  to  deal  his 
feelon's-blow.  Ech!'  says  Mister  Mac- 
Muller, 'for  why  did  I  leave  ma  fine  job  at 
the  gas-wairks  to  encoonter  the  perils  an' 

46 


THE  COMING  OF  MULLER 

advairsities  of  aerial  reconnaissance?'  he 
says.  'Well,  I'll  be  gettin'  alang,  yeer  Maj- 
esty or  Highness — dawn't  expect  ma  till  ye 
see  ma.' 

"He  moonts  his  graind  machine  an'  soon 
the  intreepid  baird-man  is  soorin'  to  the 
skies.  He  looks  oop — what  is  that  seenister 
forrm  lairking  in  the  cloods?  It  is  Tarn  the 
Comet!" 

"Up,  you  talkative  devil,"  said  Blackie 
pleasantly. 

Tarn  rode  upward  at  an  angle  which  sent 
so  great  a  pressure  of  air  against  him  that  he 
ached  in  back  and  arm  and  legs  to  keep  his 
balance.  It  was  as  though  he  were  leaning 
back  without  support,  with  great  weights 
piled  on  his  chest.  He  saw  nothing  but  the 
pale  blue  skies  and  the  fleecy  trail  of  high 
clouds,  heard  nothing  but  the  numbing, 
maddening  roar  of  his  engines. 

He  sang  a  little  song  to  himself,  for  de- 
spite his  discomfort  he  was  happy  enough. 
His  eyes  were  for  the  engine,  his  ears  for 
possible  eccentricities  of  running.  He  was 
47 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

pushing  a  straight  course  and  knew  exactly 
where  he  was  by  a  glance  at  his  barometer. 
At  six  thousand  feet  he  was  behind  the  Brit- 
ish lines  at  the  Bois  de  Colbert,  at  seven 
thousand  feet  he  should  be  over  Nivelle- 
Ancre  and  should  turn  so  that  he  reached  his 
proper  altitude  at  a  point  one  mile  behind 
the  fire  trenches  and  somewhere  in  the  re- 
gion of  the  Bois  de  Colbert  again. 

The  aeronometer  marked  twelve  thousand 
feet  when  he  leveled  the  machine  and  began 
to  take  an  interest  in  military  affairs.  The 
sky  was  clear  of  machines,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  honest  British  spotters  lumbering 
along  like  farm  laborers  to  their  monoto- 
nous toil.  A  gentlemanly  fighting  machine 
was  doing  "stunts"  over  by  Serray  and  there 
was  no  sign  of  an  enemy.  Tarn  looked 
down.  He  saw  a  world  of  tiny  squares  in- 
tersected by  thin  white  lines.  These  were 
main  roads.  He  saw  little  dewdrops  of 
water  occurring  at  irregular  intervals. 
They  were  really  respectable-sized  lakes. 

Beneath  him  were  two  irregular  scratches 
48 


THE  COMING  OF  MULLER 

against  the  dull  green-brown  of  earth  that 
stretched  interminably  north  and  south. 
They  ran  parallel  at  irregular  distances 
apart.  Sometimes  they  approached  so  that 
it  seemed  that  they  touched.  In  other 
places  they  drew  apart  from  one  another  for 
no  apparent  reason  and  there  was  quite  a 
respectable  distance  of  ground  between 
them.  These  were  the  trench  lines,  and 
every  now  and  again  on  one  side  or  the  other 
a  puff  of  dirty  brown  smoke  would  appear 
and  hang  like  a  pall  before  the  breeze  sent 
it  streaming  slowly  backward. 

Sometimes  the  clouds  of  smoke  would  be 
almost  continuous,  but  these  shell-bursts 
were  not  confined  to  the  front  lines.  From 
where  Tarn  hung  he  could  see  billowing 
smoke  clouds  appear  in  every  direction. 
Far  behind  the  enemy's  lines  at  the  great 
road  junctions,  in  the  low-roofed  billeting 
villages,  on  the  single-track  railways,  they 
came  and  wen" 

The  thunder  of  his  engines  drowned  all 
sound  so  he  could  not  hear  the  never-ceasing 
49 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

booming  of  the  guns,  the  never-ending 
crash  of  exploding  shell.  Once  he  saw  a 
heavy  German  shell  in  the  air — he  glimpsed 
it  at  that  culminating  point  of  its  trajectory 
where  the  shell  begins  to  lose  its  initial  ve- 
locity and  turns  earthward  again.  It  was  a 
curious  experience,  which  many  airmen 
have  had,  and  quite  understandable,  since 
the  howitzer  shell  rises  to  a  tremendous 
height  before  it  follows  the  descending 
curve  of  its  flight. 

He  paid  a  visit  to  the  only  cloud  that  had 
any  pretensions  to  being  a  cloud,  and  found 
nothing.  So  he  went  over  the  German 
lines.  He  passed  far  behind  the  fighting 
front  and  presently  came  above  a  certain 
confusion  of  ground  which  marked  an  ad- 
vance depot.  He  pressed  his  foot  twice  on 
a  lever  and  circled.  Looking  down  he  saw 
two  red  bursts  of  flame  and  a  mass  of  smoke. 
He  did  not  hear  the  explosions  of  the  bombs 
he  had  loosed,  because  it  was  impossible  to 
hear  anything  but  the  angry  "Whar — r — 
r — I"  of  his  engines. 

50 


THE  COMING  OF  Mt)LLER 

A  belligerent  is  very  sensitive  over  the 
matter  of  bombed  depots,  and  Tarn,  turning 
homeward,  looked  for  the  machines  which 
would  assuredly  rise  to  intercept  him.  Al- 
ready the  Archies  were  banging  away  at 
him,  and  a  fragment  of  shell  had  actually 
struck  his  fuselage.  But  he  was  not  both- 
ering about  Archies.  He  did  swerve  to- 
ward a  battery  skilfully  hidden  behind  a 
hayrick  and  drop  two  hopeful  bombs,  but 
he  scarcely  troubled  to  make  an  inspection 
of  the  result. 

Then  before  him  appeared  his  enemy. 
Tarn  had  the  sun  at  his  back  and  secured  a 
good  view  of  the  Miiller  machine.  It  was 
the  great  white  dragon-fly  he  had  seen  two 
days  before.  Apparently  Miiller  had  other 
business  on  hand.  He  was  passing  across 
Tarn's  course  diagonally — and  he  was 
climbing. 

Tarn  grinned.  He  was  also  pushing  up- 
ward, for  he  knew  that  his  enemy,  seemingly 
oblivious  to  his  presence,  had  sighted  him 

51 


TAM  O1  THE  SCOOTS 

and  was  getting  into  position  to  attack. 
Tarn's  engine  was  running  beautifully,  he 
could  feel  a  subtle  resolution  in  the  "pull" 
of  it ;  it  almost  seemed  that  this  thing  of  steel 
was  possessed  of  a  soul  all  its  own.  He  was 
keeping  level  with  the  enemy,  on  a  parallel 
course  which  enabled  him  to  keep  his  eye 
upon  the  redoubtable  fighter. 

Then,  without  warning,  the  German 
banked  over  and  headed  straight  for  Tarn, 
his  machine  gun  stuttering.  Tarn  turned  to 
meet  him.  They  were  less  than  half  a  mile 
from  each  other  and  were  drawing  together 
at  the  rate  of  two  hundred  miles  an  hour. 
There  were,  therefore,  just  ten  seconds  sep- 
arating them.  What  maneuver  Miiller  in- 
tended is  not  clear.  He  knew — and  then  he 
realized  in  a  flash  what  Tarn  was  after. 

Round  he  went,  rocking  like  a  ship  at  sea. 
A  bullet  struck  his  wheel  and  sent  the 
smashed  wood  flying.  He  nose-dived  for 
his  own  lines  and  Tarn  glared  down  after 
him. 

Miiller  reached  his  aerodrome  and  was 
52 


Tarn  turned  to  meet  him,  and   Mullet  realized  in  a  flash 
what   Tarn   was   after 


THE  COMING  OF  MULLER 

laughing     quietly     when     he     descended. 

"I  met  Tam,"  he  said  to  his  chief;  "he 
tried  to  ram  me  at  sixteen  thousand  feet — 
Oh,  yes.  I  came  down,  but — ich  habe  das 
nicht  gewollt! — I  did  not  will  it!" 

Tam  returned  to  his  headquarters  full  of 
schemes  and  bright  "thochts." 

"You  drove  him  down?"  said  the  de- 
lighted Blackie.  "Why,  Tam,  it's  fine! 
Muller  never  goes  down — you've  broken 
one  of  his  traditions." 

"A'  wisht  it  was  ain  of  his  heids,"  said 
Tam.  "A'  thocht  for  aboot  three  seconds 
he  was  acceptin'  the  challenge  o'  the  Glasca' 
Ganymede — A'm  no'  so  sure  o'  Ganymede; 
A'  got  him  oot  of  the  sairculatin'  library  an' 
he  was  verra  dull  except  the  bit  wheer  he 
went  oop  in  the  air  on  the  back  of  an  eagle 
an'  dropped  his  whustle.  But  MacMuller 
wasn't  so  full  o'  ficht  as  a'  that." 

He  walked  away,  but  stopped  and  came 
back. 

"A'm  a  Wee  Kirker,"  he  said.  "A'  re- 
membered   it   when    A'    met   MacMuller. 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

Though  A'm  no  particular  hoo  A'm  buried, 
A'm  entitled  to  a  Wee  Kirk  meenister. 
Mony's  the  time  A've  put  a  penny  i'  the  col- 
lection. It  sair  grievit  me  to  waste  guid 
money,  but  me  auld  mither  watchit  me  like 
a  cat,  an'  'twere  as  much  as  ma  life  was 
worth  to  pit  it  in  ma  breeches  pocket." 

Tarn  spent  the  flying  hours  of  the  next  day 
looking  for  his  enemy,  but  without  result. 
The  next  day  he  again  drew  blank,  and  on 
the  third  day  took  part  in  an  organized  raid 
upon  enemy  communications,  fighting  his 
way  back  from  the  interior  of  Belgium  sin- 
glehanded,  for  he  had  allowed  himself  to 
be  "rounded  out"  and  had  to  dispose  of  two 
enemy  machines  before  he  could  go  in  pur- 
suit of  the  bombing  squadrons.  In  conse- 
quence, he  had  to  meet  and  reject  the  atten- 
tions of  every  ruffled  enemy  that  the  bomb- 
ers and  their  bullies  had  fought  in  pass- 
ing. 

At  five  o'clock  in  the  evening  he  dropped 
from  the  heavens  in  one  straight  plummet 

54 


THE  COMING  OF  MULLER 

dive  which  brought  him  three  miles  in  a  lit- 
tle under  one  minute. 

"Did  you  meet  Muller?"  asked  Captain 
Blackie;  "he's  about — he  shot  down  Mr. 
Grey  this  morning  whilst  you  were  away." 

"Mr.  Gree?  Weel,  weel!"  said  Tarn, 
shaking,  "puir  soul — he  wis  a  verra  guid 
gentleman — wit'  a  gay  young  hairt." 

"I  hope  Tarn  will  pronounce  my  epi- 
taph," said  Blackie  to  Bolt,  the  observer; 
"he  doesn't  know  how  to  think  unkindly  of 
his  pals." 

"Tarn  will  get  Muller,"  said  Bolt.  "I 
saw  the  scrap  the  other  day — Tarn  was  pre- 
pared to  kill  himself  if  he  could  bring  him 
down.  He  was  out  for  a  collision,  I'll 
swear,  and  Muller  knew  it  and  lost  his  nerve 
for  the  fight.  That  means  that  Muller  is 
hating  himself  and  will  go  running  for  Tarn 
at  the  first  opportunity." 

"Tarn  shall  have  his  chance.  The  new 
B.  I.  6  is  ready  and  Tarn  shall  have  it." 

Now  every  airman  knows  the  character  of 
the  old  B.  I.  5.  She  was  a  fast  machine, 
55 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

could  rise  quicker  than  any  other  aeroplane 
in  the  world.  She  could  do  things  which 
no  other  machine  could  do,  and  could  also 
behave  as  no  self-respecting  aeroplane 
would  wish  to  behave.  For  example,  she 
was  an  involuntary  "looper."  For  no  ap- 
parent reason  at  all  she  would  suddenly 
buck  like  a  lunatic  mustang.  In  these 
frenzies  she  would  answer  no  appliance  and 
obey  no  other  mechanical  law  than  the  law 
of  gravitation. 

Tarn  had  tried  B.  I.  5,  and  had  lived  to 
tell  the  story.  There  is  a  legend  that  he 
reached  earth  flying  backward  and  upside 
down,  but  that  is  probably  without  founda- 
tion. Then  an  ingenious  American  had 
taken  B.  I.  5  in  hand  and  had  done  certain 
things  to  her  wings,  her  tail,  her  fuselage 
and  her  engine  and  from  the  chaos  of  her 
remains  was  born  B.  I.  6,  not  unlike  her  er- 
ratic mother  in  appearance,  but  viceless. 

Tarn  learned  of  his  opportunity  without 
any  display  of  enthusiasm. 

56 


THE  COMING  OF  MULLER 

"A'  doot  she's  na  guid,"  he  said.  "Cap- 
tain Blackie,  sir-r,  AVe  got  ma  ain  idea 
what  B.  I.  stands  for.  It's  no  complimen- 
tary to  the  inventor.  If  sax  is  better,  than 
A'm  goin'  to  believe  in  an  auld  sayin'." 

"What  is  that,  Tarn?" 

"  'Theer's  safety  in  numbers,'  "  said  Tarn, 
"an'  the  while  A'm  on  the  subject  of  leetera- 
ture  A'd  like  yeer  opinion  on  a  vairse  A' 
made  aboot  Mr.  MacMuller." 

He  produced  a  folded  sheet  of  paper, 
opened  it,  and  read, 

"Amidst  the  seelance  of  the  stars 
He  fell,  yon  dooty  mon  o'  Mars. 

The  angels  laffit 
To  see  this  gaillant  bairdman  die. 
'At  lairst!     At  lairst!'  the  angels  cry, 
'We've  ain  who'll  teach  us  hoo  to  fly — 

Thanks  be,  he's  strafit!'  " 

"Fine,"  said  Blackie  with  a  smile,  "but 
suppose  you're  'strafit'  instead?" 

"Pit  the  wee  pome  on  ma  ain  wreath," 
said  Tarn  simply;  "'t  'ill  be  true." 


57 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  STRAFING  OF  MULLER 

On  the  earth,  rain  was  falling  from  gray 
and  gloomy  clouds.  Above  those  clouds 
the  sun  shone  down  from  a  blue  sky  upon  a 
billowing  mass  that  bore  a  resemblance  to 
the  uneven  surface  of  a  limitless  plain  of 
lather.  High,  but  not  too  high  above 
cloud-level,  a  big  white  Albatross  circled 
serenely,  its  long,  untidy  wireless  aerial 
dangling. 

The  man  in  the  machine  with  receivers 
to  his  ears  listened  intently  for  the  faint  "H 
D"  which  was  his  official  number.  Mes- 
sages he  caught — mostly  in  English,  for  he 
was  above  the  British  lines. 

"Nine — Four  .  .  .  Nine — four  .  .  . 
nine — four,"  called  somebody  insistently. 
That  was  a  "spotter"  signaling  a  correction 

58 


THE  STRAFING  OF  MULLER 

of  range,  then  .  .  .  "Stop  where  you  are 
.  .  .  K  L  B  Q  .  .  .  Bad  light  .  .  .  Signal 
to  X  O  73  last  shot  .  .  .  Repeat  your  sig- 
nal .  .  .  No  .  .  .  Bad  light  .  .  .  Sorry — 
bad  light  .  .  .  Stay  where  you  are.  .  .  ." 

He  guessed  some,  could  not  follow  others. 
The  letter-groups  were,  of  course,  code  mes- 
sages indicating  the  distance  shells  were 
bursting  from  their  targets.  The  apologies 
were  easily  explained,  for  the  light  was  very 
bad  indeed. 

"Tarn  .  .  .  Muller  .  .  .  Above  .  .  .  el." 

The  man  in  the  machine  tried  the  lock 
of  his  gun  and  began  to  get  interested. 

Now  his  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  rolling, 
iridescent  cloud-mass  below.  From  what 
point  would  the  fighting  machine  emerge? 

He  climbed  up  a  little  higher  to  be  on  the 
safe  side.  Then,  from  a  valley  of  mist  half 
a  mile  away,  a  tiny  machine  shot  up,  shining 
like  burnished  silver  in  the  rays  of  the  after- 
noon sun,  for  Tarn  had  driven  up  in  a  driz- 
zle of  rain,  and  wings  and  fuselage  were 
soaking  wet. 

59 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

The  watcher  above  rushed  to  the  attack. 
He  was  perhaps  a  thousand  yards  above  his 
enemy  and  had  certain  advantages — a  fact 
which  Tarn  realized.  He  ceased  to  climb, 
flattened  and  went  skimming  along  the  top 
of  the  cloud,  darting  here  and  there  with 
seeming  aimlessness.  His  pursuer  rapidly 
reviewed  the  situation. 

To  dive  down  upon  his  prey  would  mean 
that  in  the  event  of  missing  his  erratic  mov- 
ing foe,  the  attacker  would  plunge  into  the 
cloud  fog  and  be  at  a  disadvantage.  At  the 
same  time,  he  would  risk  it.  Suddenly  up 
went  his  tail.  But  Tarn  had  vanished  in  the 
mist,  for  as  he  saw  the  tail  go  up,  he  had  fol- 
lowed suit,  and  nothing  in  the  world  dives 
like  a  B.  I.  6. 

No  sooner  was  he  out  of  sight  of  his  at- 
tacker than  he  brought  the  nose  of  the  ma- 
chine up  again  and  began  a  lightning  climb 
to  sunshine.  He  was  the  •  first  to  reach 
"open  country"  and  he  looked  round  for 
Muller. 

That  redoubtable  fighter  reappeared  in 
60 


THE  STRAFING  OF  MULLER 

front  and  below  him  and  Tarn  dived  for 
him.  Muller's  nose  went  down  and  back 
to  his  hiding-place  he  dived.  Tarn  cor- 
rected his  level  and  swooped  upward  again. 
There  was  no  sign  of  Captain  Muller. 
Tarn  cruised  up  and  down,  searching  the 
cloud  for  his  enemy. 

He  was  doing  three  things  at  once:  He 
was  looking,  he  was  fitting  another  drum  to 
his  gun,  and  he  was  controlling  the  flight  of 
his  machine,  when  "chk-chk-chk"  said  the 
wireless,  and  Tarn  listened,  screwing  his 
face  into  a  grimace  signifying  at  once  the 
difficulty  of  hearing,  and  his  apprehension 
that  he  might  lose  a  word  of  what  was  to 
follow. 

"L  Q — L  Q,"  said  the  receiver. 

"Noo,"  said  Tarn  in  perplexity,  "is  'L  Q' 
meanin'  that  A'  ocht  to  rin  for  ma  life  or  is 
it  'continue  the  guid  wairk'?" 

Arguing  that  his  work  was  invisible  from 
the  earth  and  that  a  more  urgent  interpreta- 
tion was  to  be  put  upon  the  message,  he 
turned  westward  and  Jived;  not,  however, 
61 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

before  he  had  seen  over  his  shoulder  a  dozen 
enemy  machines  come  flashing  up  from  the 
clouds. 

"Haird  cheese!"  said  Tarn;  "a'  the  auld 
cats  aboot  an'  the  wee  moosie's  awa'!" 

He  had  intended  going  home,  but  a  new 
and  bright  thought  struck  him.  He  turned 
his  machine  and  pushed  straight  through  the 
cloud  the  way  he  had  come.  He  knew  they 
had  seen  him  disappearing  and,  airman  like, 
they  would  remain  awhile  to  bask  in  the  sun- 
light and  "dry  off." 

As  a  general  rule  Tarn  hated  clouds. 
You  could  not  tell  whether  you  were  flying 
right  side  up  or  upside  down,  and  he  had 
always  a  curious  sense  of  nervousness  that 
he  would  collide  with  something.  Yet,  for 
once,  he  drove  through  the  swirling  "smoke" 
with  a  sense  of  joyous  anticipation,  and  pres- 
ently began  to  rise  gently,  keeping  his  eyes 
aloft  to  detect  the  first  thinning  of  the  fog. 
Presently  he  saw  the  sunlight  reflected  on 
the  upper  stratas  and  began  to  climb  steeply. 


THE  STRAFING  OF  MULLER 

His  machine  ripped  out  into  the  sun,  a 
fierce,  roaring  little  fury. 

Not  a  hundred  yards  away  was  a  fighting 
machine. 

"Ticka — ticka — ticka — ticka — tick!"  said 
Tarn's  machine  gun. 

Tarn's  staring  blue  eyes  were  on  the  sights 
— he  could  not  miss.  The  pilot  went  limp 
in  his  seat,  the  observer  took  his  hand  from 
his  gun  to  grip  the  controls.  Too  late;  the 
wide-winged  fighter  skidded  like  a  motor- 
bus  on  a  greasy  road  and  fell  into  the  clouds 
sideways. 

But  now  the  enemy  was  coming  at  him 
from  all  points  of  the  compass. 

"Dinna  let  oor  pairtin'  grieve  ye!"  sang 
Tarn  and  dropped  straight  through  the 
clouds  into  the  rain  and  a  dim  view  of  a 
bedraggled  earth. 

"There's  Burley,"  said  Blackie,  clad  in  a 
long  oilskin  and  a  sou'wester  as  he  checked 
off  the  home-coming  adventurers.  "Do  you 
ever  notice  how  his  machine  always  looks 
lop-sided?     There's  Galbraith  and  Mosen 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

— who's  that  fellow  on  the  Morane?  Oh, 
yes,  that's  Parker-Smith.     H'm!" 

''What's  wrong?" 

"Where's  Tarn — I  hope  those  beggars 
didn't  catch  him —     There  he  is,  the  devil !" 

Tarn  was  doing  stunts.  He  was  side-slip- 
ping, nose-diving  and  looping — he  was,  in 
fine,  setting  up  all  those  stresses  which  a 
machine  under  extraordinary  circumstances 
might  have  to  endure. 

"He  always  does  that  with  a  new  machine, 
sir,"  said  Captain  Blackie's  companion. 
"I've  never  understood  why,  because  if  he 
found  a  weak  place,  he'd  be  too  dead  for  the 
information  to  be  of  any  service  to  him.'" 

Later,  when  Tarn  condescended  to  bring 
himself  to  earth,  Blackie  asked  him. 

"Why  do  you  do  fool  stunts,  Tarn?  The 
place  to  test  the  machine  is  on  the  ground?" 

"Ye're  wrong,  sir-r,"  said  Tarn  quietly; 
"the  groond's  a  fine  place  to  test  a  wee  per- 
ambulator or  a  motor-car  or  a  pair  of  buits 
— but  it's  no'  the  place  to  test  an  aeroplane. 


THE  STRAFING  OF  MULLER 

The  aeroplane  an'  the  submarine  maun  be 
tried  oot  in  their  native  eelements." 

"But  suppose  you  did  succeed  in  breaking 
something — and  you  went  to  glory?" 

"Aye,"  said  Tarn  quietly,  "an'  suppose 
A'm  goin'  oop  wi'  matchless  coorage  to  save 
ma  frien's  frae  the  ravishin'  Hoon  an'  ma 
machine  plays  hookey?  Would  it  no'  be 
worse  for  a'  concairned,  than  if  A'  smash 
oop  by  mesel'?" 

"DidyouseeMuller?" 

"In  the  clouds.  A'  left  him  hauldin'  a 
committee-meetin',  Captain  MacMuller  in 
the  cheer. 

"  'Resolvit,'  says  the  (flieerman,  'that  this 
meetin',  duly  an'  truly  assembled,  passes  a 
hairty  vote  o'  thanks  to  Tarn  o'  the  Scoots, 
the  Mageecian  o'  the  Air-r,  for  the  grand 
fight  he  made  against  a  superior  enemy — 
Carried. 

"  'Resolvit,'  says  the  cheerman,  'that  we'll 
no'  ta'  onny  more  risk,  but  confine  oor  atten- 
tions to  strafin'  spotters—' 

"Carried  wi'  acclaimation.  The  meetin' 
65 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

then  adjoorned  to  enquire  after  machine 
noomber  sax,  eight,  sax,  two,  strafed  in  the 
execution  of  ma  duty." 

It  seemed  almost  as  though  Tarn's  words 
were  prophetic,  for  the  next  day  Smyth  and 
Curzon  were  attacked  whilst  "spotting"  for 
the  "heavies"  and  fell  in  flames  in  No-Man's 
Land.  They  got  Smyth  in  during  the  night 
and  rushed  him  back  to  a  base  hospital;  but 
Curzon  was  dead  before  the  machine 
reached  the  ground. 

The  same  morning  Tarn  read  in  the  Ger- 
man "Official": 

"In  the  course  of  the  day  Captain  Muller 
shot  down  his  thirtieth  enemy  aeroplane, 
which  fell  before  the  English  lines." 

"It  were  no'  the  English  lines,  but  the 
Argyll  an'  Sootherland  Hielanders'  lines," 
complained  Tarn.  "Thairty  machines  yon 
Muller  ha'  strafit.     Weel,  weel!" 

He  went  to  his  room  very  thoughtful,  and 
the  day  following,  being  an  "off"  day,  he 
spent  between  the  machine-shop  and  the 
hangar  where  the  B.  I.  6  reposed.     It  must 

66 


THE  STRAFING  OF  MULLER 

never  be  forgotten  that  Tarn  was  a  born 
mechanician.  To  him  the  machine  had  a 
body,  a  soul,  a  voice,  and  a  temperament. 
Noises  which  engines  made  had  a  peculiar 
significance  to  Tarn.  He  not  only  could  tell 
you  how  they  were  behaving,  but  how  they 
would  be  likely  to  behave  after  two  hours' 
running.  He  knew  all  the  symptoms  of 
their  mysterious  diseases  and  he  was  versed 
in  their  dietary.  He  "fed"  his  own  engines, 
explored  his  own  tanks,  greased  and  cleaned 
with  his  own  hands  every  delicate  part  of  the 
frail  machinery. 

There  was  neither  strut  nor  stay,  bolt  nor 
screw,  that  he  did  not  know  or  had  not  stud- 
ied, tested  or  replaced.  He  cleaned  his  own 
gun  and  examined,  leather  duster  in  hand, 
every  round  of  ammunition  he  took  up. 
He  left  little  to  chance  and  never  went  out 
to  attack  but  with  a  "plan,  an  altairnitive 
plan  an' — an  open  mind." 

And  now  since  Miiller  must  be  settled 
with,  Tarn  was  more  than  careful. 

The  difficulty  about  aeroplanes  is  that 
67 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

they  look  very  much  like  one  another.  Tarn 
fought  indecisively  three  big  white  Alba- 
tross machines  before  a  Fokker  hawk  darted 
down  from  the  shelter  of  a  cloud-wraith  and 
revealed  itself  as  the  temporary  preoccupa- 
tion of  Captain  Muller. 

The  encounter  may  be  told  in  Tarn's  own 
words. 

"I'  the  ruthless  pairsuit  of  his  duty,  Tarn 
was  patrollin'  at  a  height  o'  twelve  thoosand 
feet,  his  mind  filled  wi'  beautifu'  thochts 
aboot  pay-day,  when  a  cauld  shiver  passes 
doon  the  dauntless  spine  o'  the  wee  hero. 
'Tis  a  preemonition  or  warnin'  o'  peeril. 
He  speers  oop  an'  doon  absint-mindedly 
fingerin'  the  mechanism  of  his  seelver-plated 
Lewis  gun.  There  was  nawthing  in  sicht, 
nawthing  to  mar  the  glories  of  the  morn. 
'Can  A'  be  mistaken?'  asks  Tarn.  'Noo! 
A  thoosand  times  noo!'  an'  wi'  these  fatefu' 
wairds,  he  began  his  peerilous  climb. 
Maircifu' Heavens!  What's  yon?  'Tis  the 
mad  Muller!  Sweeft  as  the  eagle  fai'ng 
upon  his  prey,  fa's  MacMuller,  a  licht  o' 

68 


THE  STRAFING  OF  MULLER 

joy  in  his  een,  his  bullets  twangin'  like  hairp- 
strings.  But  Tarn  the  Tempest  is  no'  both- 
ered. Cal-lm  an'  a'most  majeestic  in  his 
sang-frow— a  French  expression — he  leps 
gaily  to  the  fray — an'  here  A'  am!" 

"But,  Tarn,"  protested  Galbraith,  "that's 
a  rotten  story.  What  happened  after  the 
lep — did  you  get  up  to  him?" 

"A'  didna  lep  oop,"  said  Tarn  gravely; 
"A'  lep  doon — it  wis  no'  the  time  to  ficht — 
it  wis  the  time  to  flee — an'  A'm  a  fleein' 
mon." 

That  he  would  deliberately  shrink  an 
issue  with  his  enemy  was  unthinkable.  And 
yet  he  rather  avoided  than  sought  Miiller 
after  this  encounter. 

One  afternoon  he  came  to  Galbraith's 
quarters.  Galbraith  was  rich  and  young 
and  a  great  sportsman. 

"Can  A'  ha'e  a  waird  wi'  ye?"  asked  Tarn 
mysteriously. 

"Surely,"  said  the  boy.  "Come  in — you 
want  a  cigar,  Tarn!"  he  accused. 

69 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

"Get  awa'  ahint  me,  Satan,"  said  Tarn 
piously.  "A've  gi'en  oop  cadgin'  seegairs 
an'  A'  beg  ye  no'  tae  tempit  a  puir  weak 
body.  Just  puit  the  box  doon  whair  A'  can 
reach  it  an'  mebbe  A'll  help  mesel'  absint- 
minded.  A'  came — mon,  this  is  a  bonnie 
smawk!  Ye  maun  pay  an  awfu'  lot  for 
these.  Twa  sheelin's  each!  Ech!  It's 
sinfu'  wi'  so  many  puir  souls  in  need — A'll 
tak'  a  few  wi'  me  when  A'  go,  to  distreebute 
to  the  sufferin'  mechanics.  Naw,  it  is  na 
for  seegairs  A'm  beggin',  na  this  time — but 
ha'e  ye  an  auld  suit  o'  claes  ye'll  no  be 
wantin'?" 

"A  suit?  Good  Lord,  yes,  Tarn,"  said 
Galbraith,  jumping  down  from  the  table  on 
which  he  was  seated.  "Do  you  want  it  for 
yourself?" 

"Well,"  replied  Tarn  cautiously,  "A'  do 
an'  A'  doon't — it's  for  ma  frien',  Fitzroy 
McGinty,  the  celebrated  MacMuller  mair- 
derer." 

Galbraith  looked  at  him  with  laughter  in 
his  eyes. 

70 


THE  STRAFING  OF  MULLER 

"Fitzroy  McGinty?  And  who  the  devil 
is  Fitzroy  McGinty?" 

Tarn  cleared  his  throat. 

"Ma  frien'  Fitzroy  McGinty  is,  like 
Tarn,  an  oornament  o'  the  Royal  Fleein' 
Coor.  Oor  hero  was  borr-rn  in  affluent  sair- 
cumstances  his  f  aither  bein'  the  laird  o'  Mac- 
lacity,  his  mither  a  Fitzroy  o'  Soosex.  Fitz 
McGinty  lived  i'  a  graund  castle  wi'  thoo- 
sands  o'  sairvants  to  wait  on  him,  an'  he  ate 
his  parritch  wi'  a  deemond  spune.  A' 
seemed  rawsy  for  the  wee  boy,  but  yin  day, 
accused  o'  the  mairder  o'  the  butler  an'  the 
bairglary  of  his  brithers'  troosers,  he  rin  f  rae 
hame,  crossin'  to  Ameriky,  wheer  he  foon' 
employment  wi'  a  rancher  as  coo-boy. 
Whilst  there,  his  naturally  adventurous 
speerit  brocht  him  into  contact  wi'  Alkali 
Pete  the  Road-Agent — ye  ken  the  feller  that 
haulds  oop  the  Deadville  stage?" 

"Oh,  I  ken  him  all  right,"  said  the  pa- 
tient Galbraith;  "but,  honestly,  Tarn — who 
is  your  friend?" 

"Ma  frien',  Angus  McCarthy?" 
71 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

"You  said  Fitzroy  McGinty  just  now." 

"Oh,  aye,"  said  Tarn  hastily,  "  'twas  ain  of 
his  assoomed  names." 

"You're  a  humbug — but  here's  the  kit. 
Is  that  of  use?" 

"Aye." 

Tarn  gathered  the  garments  under  his  arm 
and  took  a  solemn  farewell. 

"Ye'll  be  meetin'  Rabbie  again — A'  means 
Angus,  Mr.  Galbraith — but  A'd  be  glad  if 
ye'd  no  mention  to  him  that  he's  weerin'  yeer 
claes." 

He  went  to  a  distant  store  and  for  the  rest 
of  the  day,  with  the  assistance  of  a  mechanic, 
he  was  busy  creating  the  newest  recruit  to 
the  Royal  Flying  Corps.  Tarn  was  thor- 
ough and  inventive.  He  must  not  only  stuff 
the  old  suit  with  wood  shavings  and  straw, 
but  he  must  unstuff  it  again,  so  that  he  might 
thread  a  coil  of  pliable  wire  to  give  the  fig- 
ure the  necessary  stiffness. 

"Ye  maun  hae  a  backbone  if  ye're  to  be  an 
obsairver,  ma  mannie,"  said  Tarn,  "an'  noo 
for  yeer  bonnie  face — Horace,  will  ye  pass 

72 


THE  STRAFING  OF  MULLER 

me  the  plaister  o'  Paris  an'  A'll  gi'  ye  an 
eemitation  o1  Michael  Angy-low,  the  cele- 
brated face-maker." 

His  work  was  interluded  with  comments 
on  men  and  affairs — the  very  nature  of  his 
task  brought  into  play  that  sense  of  humor 
and  that  stimulation  of  fancy  to  which  he  re- 
sponded with  such  readiness. 

"A'  doot  whither  A'll  gi'e  ye  a  moos- 
tache,"  said  Tarn,  surveying  his  handiwork, 
"it's  no  necessairy  to  a  fleein'-mon,  but  it's 
awfu'  temptin'  to  an  airtist." 

He  scratched  his  head  thoughtfully. 

"Ye  should  be  more  tanned,  Angus,"  he 
said  and  took  up  the  varnish  brush. 

At  last  the  great  work  was  finished.  The 
dummy  was  lifelike  even  outside  of  the  set- 
ting which  Tarn  had  planned.  From  the 
cap  (fastened  to  the  plaster  head  by  tacks) 
to  the  gloved  hands,  the  figure  was  all  that 
an  officer  of  the  R.  F.  C.  might  be,  suppos- 
ing he  were  pigeon-toed  and  limp  of  leg. 

The  next  morning  Tarn  called  on  Blackie 

73 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

in  his  office  and  asked  to  be  allowed  to  take 
certain  liberties  with  his  machine,  a  permis- 
sion which,  when  it  was  explained,  was 
readily  granted.  He  went  up  in  the  after- 
noon and  headed  straight  for  the  enemy's 
lines.  He  was  flying  at  a  considerable 
height,  and  Captain  Muller,  who  had  been 
on  a  joy  ride  to  another  sector  of  the  line 
and  had  descended  to  his  aerodrome,  was 
informed  that  a  very  high-flying  spotter  was 
treating  Archie  fire  with  contempt  and 
had,  moreover,  dropped  random  bombs 
which,  by  the  greatest  luck  in  the  world, 
had  blown  up  a  munition  reserve. 

"I'll  go  up  and  scare  him  off,"  said  Cap- 
tain Muller.  He  focussed  a  telescope  upon 
the  tiny  spotter. 

"It  looks  more  like  a  fast  scout  than  a 
spotter,"  he  said,  "yet  there  are  obviously 
two  men  in  her." 

He  went  up  in  a  steep  climb,  his  powerful 
engines  roaring  savagely.  It  took  him 
longer  to  reach  his  altitude  than  he  had 
anticipated.     He  was  still  below  the  alleged 

74 


THE  STRAFING  OF  MULLER 

spotter  with  its  straw-stuffed  observer  when 
Tarn  dived  for  him. 

All  that  the  nursing  of  a  highly  trained 
mechanic  could  give  to  an  engine,  all  of 
precision  that  a  cold  blue  eye  and  a  steady 
hand  could  lend  to  a  machine  gun,  all  that 
an  unfearing  heart  could  throw  into  that  one 
wild,  superlative  fling,  Tarn  gave.  The  en- 
gine pulled  to  its  last  ounce,  the  wings  and 
stays  held  to  the  ultimate  stress. 

"Tarn!"  said  Muller  to  himself  and 
smiled,  for  he  knew  that  death  had  come. 

He  fired  upward  and  banked  over — then 
he  waved  his  hand  in  blind  salute,  though  he 
had  a  bullet  in  his  heart  and  was  one  with 
the  nothingness  about  him. 

Tarn  swung  round  and  stared  fiercely  as 
Muller's  machine  fell.  He  saw  it  strike  the 
earth,  crumple  and  smoke. 

"Almichty  God,"  said  the  lips  of  Tarn, 
"look  after  that  yin!  He  wis  a  bonnie 
fichter  an'  had  a  gay  hairt,  an'  he  knaws 
richt  weel  A'  had  no  malice  agin  him — 
Amen!" 

75 


CHAPTER  V 

ANNIE— THE  GUN 

"AVE  noticed,"  said  Tarn,  "a  deesposition 
in  writin'  classes  to  omit  the  necessary  bits 
of  scenery  that  throw  up  the  odious  villainy 
of  the  factor,  or  the  lonely  vairtue  of  the 
Mill  Girl.  A  forest  maiden  wi'oot  the  for- 
est or  a  hard-workin'  factory  lass  wi'oot  a 
chimney-stalk,  is  no  more  convincin'  than  a 
seegair  band  wi'oot  the  seegair,  or  an  empty 
pay  envelope." 

"Why  this  disquisition  on  the  arts,  Tarn?" 
asked  Captain  Blackie  testily. 

Three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  freez- 
ing at  that,  a  dark  aerodrome  and  the  cease- 
less drum  of  guns — neither  the  time,  the 
place  nor  the  ideal  accompaniment  to  phi- 
losophy, you  might  think.     Blackie  was  as 

76 


ANNIE— THE  GUN 

nervous  as  a  squadron  commander  may  well 
be  who  has  sent  a  party  on  a  midnight  stunt, 
and  finds  three  o'clock  marked  on  the  phos- 
phorescent dial  of  his  watch  and  not  so 
much  as  a  single  machine  in  sight. 

"Literature,"  said  Tarn  easily,  "is  a  sci- 
ence or  a  disease  very  much  like  airmanship. 
'Tis  all  notes  of  excl'mation  an'  question 
mairks,  with  one  full  stop  an'  several  semi- 
comatose crashes — !" 

"Oh,  for  Heaven's  sake,  shut  up,  Tarn!" 
said  Blackie  savagely.  "Haven't  you  a 
cigar  to  fill  that  gap  in  your  face?" 

"Aye,"  said  Tarn  calmly,  "did  ye  no'  smell 
it?  It's  one  o'  young  Master  Taunton's  Lu- 
bricates an'  A'm  smokin'  it  for  an  endurance 
test — they're  no'  so  bad,  remembering  the 
inexperience  an'  youth  o'  ma  wee  f  rien' — " 

Blackie  turned. 

"Tarn,"  he  said  shortly,  "I'm  just  worried 
sick  about  those  fellows  and  I  wish — " 

"Oh,  them,"  said  Tarn  in  an  extravagant 
tone  of  surprise,  "they're  comin'  back,  Cap- 
tain Blackie,  sir-r — a'  five,  one  with  an  en- 

77 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

gine  that's  runnin'  no'  so  sweet — that'll  be 
Mister  Gordon's,  A'm  thinkin'." 

Captain  Blackie  turned  to  the  other  in- 
credulously. 

"You  can  hear  them?"  he  asked.  "I  hear 
nothing." 

"It's  the  smell  of  Master  Taunton's  see- 
gair  in  your  ears,"  said  Tarn.  "For  the  past 
five  minutes  A've  been  listenin'  to  the  gay 
music  of  their  tractors,  bummin'  like  the 
mill  hooter  on  a  foggy  morn — there  they 
are!" 

High  in  the  dark  heavens  a  tiny  speck  of 
red  light  glowed,  lingered  a  moment  and 
vanished.  Then  another,  then  a  green  that 
faded  to  white. 

"Thank  the  Lord!"  breathed  Blackie. 
"Light  up!" 

"There's  time,"  said  Tarn,  "yon  'buses  are 
fifteen  thoosand  up." 

They  came  roaring  and  stuttering  to 
earth,  five  monstrous  shapes,  and  passed  to 
the  hands  of  their  mechanics. 

"Tarn  heard  you,"  said  Blackie  to  the 
78 


ANNIE— THE  GUN 

young  leader,  stripping  his  gloves  thought- 
fully by  the  side  of  his  machine.  "Who  had 
the  engine  trouble?" 

"Gordon,"  chuckled  the  youth.  'That 
'bus  is  a — " 

"Hec,  sir!"  said  Tam  and  put  his  hands 
to  his  ears. 

They  had  walked  across  to  the  command- 
er's office. 

"Well — what  luck  had  you?"  asked 
Blackie. 

Lieutenant  Taunton  made  a  very  wry 
face. 

"I  rather  fancy  we  got  the  aerodrome — 
we  saw  something  burning  beautifully  as  we 
turned  for  home,  but  Fritz  has  a  new  search- 
light installation  and  something  fierce  in  the 
way  of  Archies.  There's  a  new  battery  and 
unless  I'm  mistaken  a  new  kind  of  gun — 
that's  why  we  climbed.  They  angled  the 
lights  and  got  our  range  in  two  calendar  sec- 
onds and  they  never  left  us  alone.  There 
was  one  gun  in  particular  that  was  almost 
undodgable.  I  stalled  and  side-slipped, 
79 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

climbed  and  nose-dived,  but  the  devil  was 
always  on  the  spot." 

"Hum,"  said  Blackie  thoughtfully,  "did 
you  mark  the  new  battery?" 

"X  B  84  as  far  as  I  could  judge,"  said  the 
other  and  indicated  a  tiny  square  on  the  big 
map  which  covered  the  side  of  the  office; 
"it  wasn't  worth  while  locating,  for  I  fancy 
that  my  particular  friend  was  mobile — Tarn, 
look  out  for  the  Demon  Gunner  of  Boche- 
ville." 

"It  is  computed  by  state — by  state — by 
fellers  that  coont,"  said  Tarn,  "that  it  takes 
seven  thoosand  shells  to  hit  a  rlyin'-man — by 
my  own  elaborate  system  of  calculation,  A' 
reckon  that  AYe  five  thoosand  shells  to  see 
before  A'  get  the  one  that's  marked  wi'  ma 
name  an'  address." 

And  he  summarily  dismissed  the  matter 
from  his  mind  for  the  night.  Forty-eight 
hours  later  he  found  the  question  of  A-A 
gunnery  a  problem  which  was  not  suscep- 
tible to  such  cavalier  treatment. 

He  came  back  to  the  aerodrome  this  after- 
80 


ANNIE— THE  GUN 

noon,  shooting  down  from  a  great  height  in 
one  steep  run,  and  found  the  whole  of  the 
squadron  waiting  for  him.  Tarn  descended 
from  the  fuselage  very  solemnly,  affecting 
not  to  notice  the  waiting  audience,  and  with 
a  little  salute,  which  was  half  a  friendly  nod, 
he  would  have  made  his  way  to  squadron 
headquarters  had  not  Blackie  hailed  him. 

"Come  on,  Tarn,"  he  smiled.  "Why  this 
modesty?" 

"Sir-r?"  said  Tarn  with  well-simulated 
surprise. 

"Let  us  hear  about  the  gun." 

"Ah,  the  gun,"  said  Tarn  as  though  it  were 
some  small  matter  which  he  had  overlooked 
in  the  greater  business  of  the  day.  "Well, 
now,  sir-r,  that  is  some  gun,  and  after  A've 
had  a  sup  o'  tea  A'll  tell  you  the  story  of  ma 
reckless  exploits." 

He  walked  slowly  over  to  his  mess,  fol- 
lowed by  the  badinage  of  his  superiors. 

"You  saw  it,  Austin,  didn't  you?" 
Blackie  turned  to  the  young  airman. 

"Oh,  yes,  sir.  I  was  spotting  for  a  how- 
81 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

itzer  battery  and  they  were  firing  like  a  gas- 
pipe,  by  the  way,  right  outside  the  clock — I 
can't  make  up  my  mind  what  is  the  matter 
with  that  battery." 

"Never  mind  about  the  battery,"  inter- 
rupted Blackie;  "tell  us  about  Tarn." 

"I  didn't  see  it  all,"  said  Austin,  "and  I 
didn't  know  it  was  Tarn  until  later.  The 
first  thing  I  saw  was  one  of  our  fellows 
'zooming'  up  at  a  rare  bat  all  on  his  lonely. 
I  didn't  take  much  notice  of  that.  I 
thought  it  was  one  of  our  fellows  on  a  stunt. 
But  presently  I  could  see  Archie  getting  in 
his  grand  work.  It  was  a  battery  some- 
where on  the  Lille  road,  and  it  was  a 
scorcher,  for  it  got  his  level  first  pop.  In- 
stead of  going  on,  the  'bus  started  circling 
as  though  he  was  enjoying  the  'shrap'  bath. 
As  far  as  I  could  see  there  were  four  guns  on 
him,  but  three  of  them  were  wild  and  late. 
You  could  see  their  bursts  over  him  and 
under  him,  but  the  fourth  was  a  terror.  It 
just  potted  away,  always  at  his  level.  If 
he  went  up  it  lived  with  him ;  if  he  dropped 

82 


ANNIE— THE  GUN 

it  was  alongside  of  him.  It  was  quaint  to 
see  the  other  guns  correcting  their  range,  but 
always  a  bit  after  the  fair.  Of  course,  I 
knew  it  was  Tarn  and  I  somehow  knew  he 
was  just  circling  round  trying  out  the  new 
gun.     How  he  escaped,  the  Lord  knows!" 

Faithful  to  his  promise,  Tarn  returned. 

"If  any  of  you  gentlemen  have  a  see- 
gair — "  he  asked. 

Half  a  dozen  were  offered  to  him  and  he 
took  them  all. 

"A'll  no1  offend  any  o'  ye,"  he  explained, 
"by  refusin'  your  hospitality.  They  mayn't 
be  good  seegairs,  as  AVe  reason  to  know,  but 
A'll  smoke  them  all  in  the  spirit  they  are 
geeven." 

He  sat  down  on  a  big  packing-case,  tucked 
up  his  legs  under  him  and  pulled  silently  at 
the  glowing  Perf ecto.     Then  he  began : 

"At  eleven  o'clock  in  the  forenoon,"  said 
Tarn,  settling  himself  to  the  agreeable  task, 
"in  or  about  the  vicinity  of  La  Bas  a  solitary 
airman  micht  ha'  been  sighted  or  viewed, 
wingin'  his  way  leisurely  across  the  fleckless 

83 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

blue  o'  the  skies.  Had  ye  been  near  enough 
ye  would  have  obsairved  a  smile  that  played 
arooned  his  gay  young  face.  In  his  blue 
eyes  was  a  look  o'  deep  thought.  Was  he 
thinkin'  of  home,  of  his  humble  cot  in  the 
shadow  of  Ben  Lomond?  He  was  not,  for 
he  never  had  a  home  in  the  shadow  of  Ben 
Lomond.  Was  he  thinkin'  sadly  of  the 
meanness  o'  his  superior  officer  who  had 
left  one  common  seegair  in  his  box  and  had 
said,  'Tarn,  go  into  my  quarters  and  help 
yourself  to  the  smokes'?" 

"Tarn,  I  left  twenty,"  said  an  indignant 
voice,  "and  when  I  came  to  look  for  them 
they  were  all  gone." 

"A've  no  doot  there's  a  bad  character 
amongst  ye,"  said  Tarn  gravely;  "A'  only 
found  three,  and  two  of  'em  were  bad,  or  it 
may  have  been  four.  No,  sir-rs,  he  was  no' 
thinkin'  of  airthly  things.  Suddenly  as  he 
zoomed  to  the  heavens  there  was  a  loud 
crack;  and  lookin'  over,  the  young  hero  dis- 
covered that  life  was  indeed  a  bed  of  shrap- 
nel and  that  more  was  on  its  way,  for  at 

84 


ANNIE— THE  GUN 

every  point  of  the  compass  Archie  was 
belching  forth  death  and  destruction" — he 
paused  and  rubbed  his  chin — "Archie  A' 
didn't  mind,"  he  said  with  a  little  chuckle, 
"but  Archie's  little  sister,  sir-r,  she  was 
fierce!  She  never  left  me.  A'  stalled  an' 
looped,  A'  stood  on  ma  head  and  sat  on  ma 
tail.  A'  banked  to  the  left  and  to  the  right. 
A'  spiraled  up  and  A'  nose-dived  doon,  and 
she  stayed  wi'  me  closer  than  a  sister.  For 
hoors,  it  seemed  almost  an  etairnity,  Tarn  o' 
the  Scoots  hovered  with  impunity  above  the 
inferno — " 

"But  why,  Tarn?"  asked  Blackie.  "Was 
it  sheer  swank  on  your  part?" 

"It  was  no  swank,"  said  Tarn  quietly. 
"Listen,  Captain  Blackie,  sir-r;  four  guns 
were  bangin'  and  bangin'  at  me,  and  one  of 
them  was  a  good  one — too  good  to  live. 
Suppose  A'  had  spotted  that  one — A'  could 
have  dropped  and  bombed  him." 

Blackie  was  frowning. 

"I  think  we'll  leave  the  Archies  alone," 
he  said;  "you  have  never  shown  a  disposi- 
85 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

tion  to  go  gunning  for  Archies  before, 
Tarn." 

Tarn  shook  his  head. 

"It  is  a  theery  A'  have,  sir-r,"  he  said; 
"yon  Archie,  the  new  feller,  is  being  tried 
oot.  He  is  different  to  the  rest.  Mr.  Aus- 
tin had  him  the  other  night.  Mr.  Colebeck 
was  nearly  brought  doon  yesterday  morn. 
Every  one  in  the  squadron  has  had  a  taste 
of  him,  and  every  one  in  the  squadron  has 
been  lucky." 

"That  is  a  fact,"  said  Austin;  "this  new 
gun  is  a  terror." 

"But  he  has  no'  hit  any  one,"  insisted 
Tarn;  "it's  luck  that  he  has  no',  but  it's  the 
sort  of  luck  that  the  flyin'-man  has.  To- 
morrow the  luck  may  be  all  the  other  way, 
and  he'll  bring  doon  every  one  he  aims  at. 
Ma  idea  is  that  to-morrow  we've  got  to  get 
him,  because  if  he  makes  good,  in  a  month's 
time  you  won't  be  able  to  fly  except  at  sax- 
teen  thoosand  feet." 

A  light  broke  in  on  Blackie. 
86 


ANNIE— THE  GUN 

"I  see,  Tarn,"  he  said;  "so  you  were  just 
hanging  around  to  discourage  him?" 

"A'  thocht  it  oot,"  said  Tarn.  "A'  pictured 
ma  young  friend  William  von  Archie  shoot- 
in'  and  shootin',  surroonded  by  technical  ex- 
pairts  with  long  whiskers  and  spectacles. 
'It's  a  rotten  gun  you've  got,  Von,'  says  they; 
'can  ye  no'  bring  doon  one  wee  airman?' 
'Gi'  me  anither  thoosand  shots,'  gasps  Willie, 
'and  there'll  be  a  vacant  seat  in  the  sergeant's 
mess;'  and  so  the  afternoon  wears  away  and 
the  landscape  is  littered  wi'  shell  cases,  but 
high  in  the  air,  glitterin'  in  the  dyin'  rays  of 
the  sun,  sits  the  debonair  scoot,  cool,  reso- 
lute, and  death-defyin'." 

That  night  the  wires  between  the  squad- 
ron headquarters  and  G.  H.  Q.  hummed 
with  information  and  inquiry.  A  hundred 
aerodromes,  from  the  North  Sea  to  the 
Vosges,  reported  laconically  that  Annie,  the 
vicious  sister  of  Archie,  was  unknown. 

Tarn  lay  in  his  bunk  that  night  devouring 
the  latest  of  his  literary  acquisitions. 
87 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

Tarn's  "bunk"  was  a  ten-by-eight  struc- 
ture lined  with  varnished  pine.  The  furni- 
ture consisted  of  a  plain  canvas  bed,  a  large 
black  box,  a  home-made  cupboard  and  three 
book-shelves  which  ran  the  width  of  the 
wall  facing  the  door.  These  were  filled 
with  thin,  paper-covered  "volumes"  luridly 
colored.  Each  of  these  issues  consisted  of 
thirty-two  pages  of  indifferent  print,  and 
since  the  authors  aimed  at  a  maximum  effect 
with  an  economy  of  effort,  there  were  whole 
pages  devoted  to  dialogue  of  a  staccato  char- 
acter. 

He  lay  fully  dressed  upon  the  bed.  A 
thick  curtain  retained  the  light  which  came 
from  an  electric  bulb  above  his  head  and 
his  mind  was  absorbed  with  the  breathless 
adventures  of  his  cowboy  hero. 

Now  and  again  he  would  drop  the  book 
to  his  chest  and  gaze  reflectively  at  the  ceil- 
ing, for,  all  the  time  he  had  been  reading, 
one-half  of  his  brain  had  been  steadily  pur- 
suing a  separate  course  of  inquiry  of  its 
own ;  and  while  the  other  half  had  wandered 

88 


ANNIE— THE  GUN 

pleasantly  through  deep  and  sunless  gulches 
or  had  clambered  on  the  back  of  a  sure- 
footed bronco  up  precipitous  mountain- 
slopes,  the  mental  picture  he  conjured  was 
in  the  nature  of  a  double  exposure,  for  ever 
there  loomed  a  dim  figure  of  a  mysterious 
anti-aircraft  gun.  He  took  up  the  book  for 
about  the  tenth  time  and  read  two  lines, 
when  a  bell  in  the  corner  of  the  room  rang 
three  times.  Three  short  thrills  of  sound 
and  then  silence. 

Tarn  slipped  from  the  bed,  lifted  down 
his  leather  jacket  from  the  wall  and  strug- 
gled into  it.  He  took  up  his  padded  helmet, 
switched  off  the  light  and,  opening  the  door, 
stepped  out  into  the  darkness.  Buttoning 
his  jacket  as  he  went,  he  made  his  way 
across  by  a  short  cut  to  the  hangars  and 
found  Blackie  surrounded  by  half  a  dozen 
officers  already  on  the  spot. 

"Is  that  you,  Tarn?  I  want  you  to  go  up 
— there  she  goes!" 

They  listened 

"Whoom!" 

89 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

"Fritz  has  sneaked  across  in  the  dark  and 
is  industriously  bombing  billets,"  he  said; 
"he  dodged  the  Creeper's  Patrol.  Go  and 
see  if  you  can  find  him." 

"Whoom!" 

The  sound  of  the  bursting  bomb  was 
nearer. 

"  'Tis  safer  in  the  air,"  said  Tarn  as  he 
swung  into  his  fuselage.     "Contact!" 

A  few  seconds  later,  with  a  roar,  the  ma- 
chine disappeared  into  the  black  wall  of 
darkness. 

It  came  back  in  less  than  a  minute  well 
overhead  and  Blackie,  straining  his  eyes  up- 
ward, followed  its  progress  against  the  stars 
until  it  melted  into  the  sky. 

"Whoom!" 

"He  is  looking  for  us,"  said  Blackie; 
"stand  by  your  hangars." 

To  the  northwest  two  swift  beams  of  light 
were  sweeping  the  sky  urgently.  From  a 
point  farther  south  sprang  another  beam. 

"If  Fritz  doesn't  locate  us  now  he  ought 
to  be  shot,"  growled  Blackie. 

90 


ANNIE— THE  GUN 

But  apparently  Fritz  had  overshot  the 
aerodrome,  for  the  next  explosion  came  a 
mile  to  the  west. 

"Tarn  will  see  the  burst,"  said  young  Aus- 
tin and  Blackie  nodded. 

There  were  no  other  explosions  and  they 
waited  for  ten  minutes,  then — 

"Ticka-ticka-ticka-ticka!" 

The  sound  came  from  right  overhead. 

"Tarn's  got  him,"  whooped  Blackie;  "the 
devil  must  have  been  flying  low." 

"T  ocka-tocka-tocka-tocka!" 

"That's  Fritz,"  said  Blackie,  "and  that's 
Tarn  again." 

Then  one  of  the  waving  searchlights 
strayed  in  their  direction,  and  down  its  white 
beam  for  the  space  of  a  hundred  yards  slid 
a  ghostly  white  moth.  It  dipped  suddenly 
and  fell  out  of  the  light  and  in  its  wake,  but 
above,  burst  three  little  green  balls  of  fire — 
Tarn's  totem  and  sign-manual. 

"Landing   lights!"    roared    Blackie,    and 
they  had  hardly  been  switched  on  when  Tarn 
swooped  to  the  ground. 
91 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

In  the  meantime  a  motor-car  had  gone 
swiftly  in  the  direction  of  the  fallen  Hun 
machine. 

"He  crashed,"  said  Tarn  breathlessly,  as 
he  jumped  to  the  ground;  "A'm  afeered  the 
puir  body  is  hurt." 

But  the  poor  body  was  neither  hurt  nor 
frightened,  nor  indeed  had  he  crashed. 

In  point  of  fact  he  had  made  a  very  good 
landing,  considering  the  disadvantages  un- 
der which  he  labored.  They  brought  him 
into  the  mess-room,  a  tall  stripling  with 
shaven  head  and  blue  laughing  eyes,  and  he 
took  the  coffee  they  offered  him  with  a  cour- 
teous little  bow  and  a  click  of  his  heels. 

"Baron  von  Treutzer,"  the  prisoner  intro- 
duced himself. 

"I  was  afraid  that  a  thousand  meters  was 
too  low  to  fly,  even  at  night,"  he  said;  "I 
suppose  I  didn't  by  any  lucky  chance  get 
you.  By  the  way,  who  brought  me  down? 
Tarn?" 

"Tarn  it  was,"  said  Blackie  cheerfully, 
"and  you  didn't  get  us." 

92 


ANNIE— THE  GUN 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  the  baron.  "May  I 
ask  you  whether  it  was  Tarn  who  was  doing 
stunts  over  our  new  gun?" 

Blackie  nodded. 

"I  thought  it  was.  They  have  been  curs- 
ing him  all  the  evening — I  mean,  of  course, 
the  technical  people,"  he  added  hastily,  as 
though  to  emphasize  the  fact  that  the  Impe- 
rial Air  Service  was  above  resentment. 
"Naturally  they  swore  you  had  some  kind 
of  armor  on  your  machine,  and  though  we 
told  them  it  was  most  unlikely,  they  insisted 
— you  know  what  obstinate  people  these 
manufacturers  are;  in  fact,  they  say  that 
they  saw  it  glitter,"  he  laughed  softly. 
"You  see,"  he  went  on,  "they  don't  under- 
stand this  game.  They  can  not  understand 
why  their  wonderful" — he  corrected  him- 
self swiftly — "why  their  gun  did  not  get 
you.  It  would  have  been  a  terrible  disap- 
pointment if  they  had  brought  you  down  and 
discovered  that  you  were  not  sheeted  in  some 
new  patent  shell-proof  steel." 

"Oh,    aye,"   said   Tarn,    and    he   smiled, 
93 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

which  was  an  unusual  thing  for  Tarn  to  do, 
and  then  he  laughed,  a  deep,  bubbling 
chuckle  of  laughter,  which  was  even  more 
unusual.  "Oh,  aye,"  he  said  again  and  was 
still  laughing  when  he  went  out  of  the  little 
anteroom. 

He  did  not  go  back  to  his  bunk,  but  made 
his  way  to  the  workshop,  and  when  he  went 
up  the  next  morning  he  carried  with  him, 
carefully  strapped  to  the  fuselage,  a  sheet  of 
tin  which  he  had  industriously  cut  and 
punched  full  of  rivet-holes  in  the  course  of 
the  night. 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  that, 
Tarn?"  asked  Blackie. 

"That  is  ma  new  armor,"  said  Tarn  sol- 
emnly. "  'Tis  a  grand  invention  I  made 
out  of  my  own  head." 

"But  what  is  the  idea?"  asked  Blackie. 

"Captain  Blackie,  sir-r,"  said  Tarn,  "I 
have  a  theery,  and  if  you  have  no  objection 
I'd  like  to  try  it  oot." 

"Go  ahead,"  said  Blackie  with  a  per- 
plexed frown. 

94 


ANNIE— THE  GUN 

At  half-past  eleven,  Tarn,  having  roved 
along  the  German  front-line  trenches  and 
having  amused  himself  by  chasing  a  Ger- 
man spotter  to  earth,  made  what  appeared 
to  be  a  leisurely  way  back  to  that  point  of 
the  Lille  road  where  he  had  met  with  his 
adventures  of  the  previous  day.  He  was 
hoping  to  find  the  battery  which  he  had 
worried  at  that  time,  and  he  was  not  disap- 
pointed. In  the  same  area  where  he  had 
met  the  guns  before,  they  opened  upon  him. 
He  circled  round  and  located  six  pieces. 
Which  of  these  was  "Annie"? 

One  he  could  silence  at  terrible  risk  to 
himself,  but  no  more.  To  drop  down,  on 
the  off-chance  of  finding  his  quarry,  was 
taking  a  gambler's  chance,  and  Tarn  prided 
himself  that  he  was  no  gambler.  That  the 
gun  was  there,  he  knew.  Its  shells  were 
bursting  ever  upon  his  level  and  he  was 
bumped  and  kicked  by  the  violence  of  the 
concussions.  As  for  the  other  guns,  he  ig- 
nored them;  but  from  whence  came  the 
danger?  He  had  unstrapped  the  tinplate 
95 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

and  held  it  ready  in  his  gloved  hand — then 
there  came  a  burst  dangerously  near.  He 
banked  over,  side-slipped  in  the  most  nat- 
ural manner  and  with  all  his  strength  flung 
the  tin-plate  clear  of  the  machine.  Imme- 
diately after,  he  began  to  climb  upward. 
He  looked  down,  catching  the  glitter  of  the 
tin  as  it  planed  and  swooped  to  the  earth. 

He  knew  that  those  on  the  ground  belowT 
thought  he  was  hit.  For  a  brief  space  of 
time  the  guns  ceased  firing  and  by  the  time 
they  recommenced  they  fired  short.  Tarn 
was  now  swooping  round  eastward  farther 
and  farther  from  range,  and  all  the  time  he 
was  climbing,  till,  at  the  end  of  half  an 
hour,  those  who  watched  him  saw  only  a 
little  black  speck  in  the  sky. 

When  he  reached  his  elevation  he  began 
to  circle  back  till  he  came  above  the  guns 
and  a  little  to  the  eastward.  He  was  watch- 
ing now  intently.  He  had  located  the  six 
by  certain  landmarks,  and  his  eyes  flickered 
from  one  point  to  the  other.  A  drifting 
wisp  of  cloud  helped  him  a  little  in  the 

96 


ANNIE— THE  GUN 

period  of  waiting.  It  served  the  purpose  of 
concealment  and  he  passed  another  quarter 
of  an  hour  dodging  eastward  and  westward 
from  cover  to  cover  until,  heading  back 
again  to  the  west,  he  saw  what  he  had  been 
waiting  for. 

Down  charged  the  nose  of  the  machine. 
Like  a  hawk  dropping  upon  its  prey  he 
swooped  down  at  one  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  an  hour,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  one  point. 
The  guns  did  not  see  him  until  too  late. 
Away  to  his  right,  two  Archies  crashed  and 
missed  him  by  the  length  of  a  street.  He 
slowly  flattened  before  he  came  over  a  gun 
which  stood  upon  a  big  motor-trolley 
screened  by  canvas  and  reeds,  and  he  was 
not  fifty  yards  from  the  ground  when  he  re- 
leased, with  almost  one  motion,  every  bomb 
he  carried. 

The  explosion  flung  him  up  and  tossed  his 
little  machine  as  though  it  were  of  paper. 
He  gave  one  fleeting  glance  backward  and 
saw  the  debris,  caught  a  photographic 
glimpse  of  half  a  dozen  motionless  figures  in 
97 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

the  road,  then  set  his  roaring  machine  up- 
ward and  homeward. 

It  was  not  until  a  week  afterward  that  the 
news  leaked  out  that  Herr  Heinzelle,  one  of 
Krupp's  best  designers,  had  been  "killed  on 
the  Western  Front,"  and  that  information 
put  the  finishing  touch  to  Tarn's  joy. 

"But,"  asked  the  brigadier-general  to 
whose  attention  Tarn's  act  of  genius  had 
been  brought,  "how  did  your  man  know  it 
was  the  gun?" 

"You  see,  sir,"  said  Blackie,  "Tarn  got  to 
know  that  Fritz  believed  his  machine  was 
armored,  and  he  thought  they  would  be  keen 
to  see  the  armor,  and  so  he  took  up  a  plate 
of  tin  and  dropped  it.  What  was  more  nat- 
ural than  that  they  should  retrieve  the  armor 
and  take  it  to  the  experts  for  examination? 
Tarn  waited  till  he  saw  the  sunlight  reflected 
on  the  tin  near  one  of  the  guns — knew  that 
he  had  found  his  objective — and  dropped 
for  it!" 

"An  exceedingly  ingenious  idea!"  said  the 
brigadier. 

98 


ANNIE— THE  GUN 

This  message  Blackie  conveyed  to  his  sub- 
ordinate. 

"A'm  no'  puffed-up  aboot  it,"  said  Tarn. 
"  'Twas  a  great  waste  o'  good  tin." 


99 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  LAW-BREAKER  AND  FRIGHTFULNESS 

IT  is  an  unwritten  law  of  all  flying  serv- 
ices that  when  an  enemy  machine  bursts  into 
flames  in  the  course  of  an  aerial  combat  the 
aggressor  who  has  brought  the  catastrophe 
should  leave  well  enough  alone  and  allow 
his  stricken  enemy  to  fall  unmolested. 

Lieutenant  Callendar,  returning  from  a 
great  and  enjoyable  strafe,  was  met  by  three 
fast  scouts  of  the  Imperial  German  Flying 
Service.  He  shot  down  one,  when  his  gun 
was  jammed.  He  banked  over  and  dived 
to  avoid  the  attentions  of  the  foremost  of  his 
adversaries,  but  was  hit  by  a  chance  bullet, 
his  petrol  tank  was  pierced  and  he  suddenly 
found  himself  in  the  midst  of  noisy  flames 
which  said  "Hoo-oo-oo!"  most  terribly. 

As  he  fell,  to  his  amazement  and  wrath, 
100 


THE  LAW-BREAKER 

one  of  his  adversaries  dropped  after  him,  his 
machine  gun  going  like  a  rattle.  High 
above  the  combatants  a  fourth  and  fifth  ma- 
chine, the  one  British  and  the  other  a  unit 
of  the  American  squadron,  were  tearing 
down-skies.  The  pursuing  plane  saw  his 
danger,  banked  round  and  sped  for  home, 
his  companion  being  already  on  the  way. 

"Ye're  no  gentleman,"  said  Tarn  grimly, 
"an'  A'm  goin'  to  strafe  ye!" 

Fortunately  for  the  flying  breaker  of  air- 
laws,  von  Bissing's  circus  was  performing 
stately  measures  in  the  heavens  and  as  von 
Bissing's  circus  consisted  of  ten  very  fast 
flying-machines,  Tarn  decided  that  this  was 
not  the  moment  for  vengeance  and  came 
round  on  a  hairpin  turn  just  as  von  Bissing 
signaled,  "Attack!" 

Tarn  got  back  to  the  aerodrome  to  dis- 
cover that  Callendar,  somewhat  burnt  but 
immensely  cheerful,  was  holding  an  indig- 
nation meeting,  the  subject  under  discussion 
being  "The  Game  and  How  It  Should  Be 
Played." 

101 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

"The  brute  knew  jolly  well  I  was  crash- 
ing.    It's  a  monstrous  thing!" 

"One  was  bound  to  meet  fellows  like  that 
sooner  or  later,"  said  Captain  Blackie,  the 
squadron  commander,  philosophically.  "I 
suppose  the  supply  of  gentlemen  does  not 
go  round,  and  they  are  getting  some  rubbish 
into  the  corps.  One  of  you  fellows  drop  a 
note  over  their  aerodrome  and  ask  them 
what  the  dickens  they  mean  by  it.  Did  you 
see  him,  Tarn?" 

"A'  did  that,"  said  Tarn;  "that  wee  Hoon 
was  saved  from  destruction  owing  to  circum- 
stances ower  which  A'  had  no  control.  A' 
was  on  his  tail;  ma  bricht-blue  eyes  were 
glancin'  along  the  sichts  of  ma  seelver- 
plated  Lewis  gun,  when  A'  speered  the 
grand  circus  of  Mr.  MacBissing  waiting  to 
perform." 

Tarn  shook  his  head. 

"A'm  hoping,"  said  he,  "that  it  was  an  act 

of  mental   aberration,   that  'twas   his   first 

crash;  and,  carried  away  by  the  excitement 

and  enthusiasm  of  the  moment,  the  little 

102 


THE  LAW-BREAKER 

feller  fell  into  sin.     A'm  hoping  that  retri- 
bution is  awaiting  him. 

"  'Ma  wee  Hindenburg,'  says  Mr.  Mac- 
Bissing,  stern  and  ruthless,  'did  I  no  see  ye 
behavin'  in  a  manner  likely  to  bring  dis- 
credit upon  the  Imperial  and  All-Highest 
Air  Sairvice  of  our  Exalted  and  Talkative 
Kaiser?     Hoch!  Hoch!  Hoch!' 

"Little  Willie  Hindenburg  hangs  his 
heid. 

"  'Baron,'  or  'ma  lord,'  as  the  case  may  be, 
says  he,  'I'll  no  be  tellin'  ye  a  lie.  I  was  not 
mesel'!  That  last  wee  dram  of  sauerkraut 
got  me  all  lit  up  like  a  picture  palace!'  says 
he;  'I  didn't  know  whether  it  was  on  ma 
heid  or  somebody  else's,'  says  he;  'I'll  admit 
the  allegation  and  I  throw  mesel'  on  the 
maircy  o'  the  court.' 

"  'Hand  me  ma  strop,'  says  MacBissing, 
pale  but  determined,  and  a  few  minutes 
later  a  passer-by  micht  have  been  arrested 
and  even  condemned  to  death  by  hearin'  the 
sad  and  witchlike  moans  that  came  frae 
headquarters." 

103 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

That  "Little  Willie  Hindenburg"  had  not 
acted  inadvertently,  but  that  it  was  part  of 
his  gentle  plan  to  strafe  the  strafed — an 
operation  equivalent  to  kicking  a  man  when 
he  is  down — was  demonstrated  the  next 
morning,  for  when  Thornton  fell  out  of  con- 
trol, blazing  from  engine  to  tail,  a  German 
flying-man,  unmistakably  the  same  as  had 
disgraced  himself  on  the  previous  day,  came 
down  on  his  tail,  keeping  a  hail  of  bullets 
directed  at  the  fuselage,  though  he  might 
have  saved  himself  the  trouble,  for  both 
Thornton  and  Freeman,  his  observer,  had 
long  since  fought  their  last  fight. 

Again  Tarn  was  a  witness  and  again,  like 
a  raging  tempest,  he  swept  down  upon  the 
law-breaker  and  again  was  foiled  by  the 
vigilant  German  scouts  from  executing  his 
vengeance. 

Tarn  had  recently  received  from  home  a 
goodly  batch  of  that  literature  which  was 
his  peculiar  joy.  He  sat  in  his  bunk  on  the 
night  of  his  second  adventure  with  the  bad- 
mannered  air-man,  turned  the  lurid  cover  of 
104 


THE  LAW-BREAKER 

"The  Seven  Warnings:  The  Story  of  a 
Cowboy's  Vengeance,"  and  settled  himself 
down  to  that  "good,  long  read"  which  was 
his  chiefest  and,  indeed,  his  only  recreation. 
He  began  reading  at  the  little  pine  table. 
He  continued  curled  up  in  the  big  arm- 
chair— retrieved  from  the  attic  of  the  shell- 
battered  Chateau  d'Enghien.  He  con- 
cluded the  great  work  sitting  cross-legged 
on  his  bed,  and  the  very  restlessness  which 
the  story  provoked  was  a  sure  sign  of  its 
gripping  interest. 

And  when  he  had  finished  the  little  work 
of  thirty-two  pages,  he  turned  back  and  read 
parts  all  over  again,  a  terrific  compliment  to 
the  shy  and  retiring  author.  He  closed  the 
book  with  a  long  sigh,  sat  upon  his  bed  for 
half  an  hour  and  then  went  back  to  the  pine 
table,  took  out  from  the  debris  of  one  of  the 
drawers  a  bottle  of  ink,  a  pen  and  some  note- 
paper  and  wrote  laboriously  and  carefully, 
ending  the  seven  or  eight  lines  of  writing 
with  a  very  respectable  representation  of  a 
skull  and  cross-bones. 
105 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

When  he  had  finished,  he  drew  an  en- 
velope toward  him  and  sat  looking  at  it  for 
five  minutes.  He  scratched  his  head  and  he 
scratched  his  chin  and  laid  down  his  pen. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock,  and  the  mess  would 
still  be  sitting  engaged  in  discussion.  He 
put  out  the  light  and  made  his  way  across 
the  darkened  aerodrome. 

Blackie  saw  him  in  the  anteroom,  for  Tarn 
enjoyed  the  privilege  of  entree  at  all  times. 

"His  name?  It's  very  curious  you  should 
ask  that  question,  Tarn,"  smiled  Blackie; 
"we've  just  had  a  message  through  from  In- 
telligence. One  of  his  squadron  has  been 
brought  down  by  the  Creepers,  and  they  are 
so  sick  about  him  that  this  fellow  who  was 
caught  by  the  Creepers  gave  him  away. 
His  name  is  von  Mahl,  the  son  of  a  very  rich 
pal  of  the  Kaiser,  and  a  real  bad  egg." 

"Von  Mahl,"  repeated  Tarn  slowly,  "and 
he  will  be  belongin'  to  the  Roulers  lot,  A'm 
thinkin'?" 

Blackie  nodded. 

"They  complain  bitterly  that  he  is  not  a 
106 


THE  LAW-BREAKER 

gentleman,"  he  said,  "and  they  would  kick 
him  out  but  for  the  fact  that  he  has  this  influ- 
ence.    Why  did  you  want  to  know?" 

"Sir-r,"  said  Tarn  solemnly,  "I  ha'e  a 
grand  stunt." 

He  went  back  to  his  room  and  addressed 
the  envelope : 

"Mr.vonMahl." 

The  next  morning  when  the  well-born 
members  of  the  Ninety-fifth  Squadron  of 
the  Imperial  German  Air  Service  were 
making  their  final  preparations  to  ascend,  a 
black  speck  appeared  in  the  sky. 

Captain  Karl  von  Zeiglemann  fixed  the 
speck  with  his  Zeiss  glasses  and  swore. 

"That  is  an  English  machine,"  he  said; 
"those  Bavarian  swine  have  let  him  through. 
Take  cover!" 

The  group  in  the  aerodrome  scattered. 

The  Archie  fire  grew  more  and  more  furi- 
ous and  the  sky  was  flecked  with  the  smoke 
of  bursting  shell,  but  the  little  visitor  came 
slowly  and  inexorably  onward.  Then  came 
107 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

three  resounding  crashes  as  the  bombs 
dropped.  One  got  the  corner  of  a  hangar 
and  demolished  it.  Another  burst  into  the 
open  and  did  no  damage,  but  the  third  fell 
plumb  between  two  machines  waiting  to  go 
up  and  left  them  tangled  and  burning. 

The  German  squadron-leader  saw  the  ma- 
chine bank  over  and  saw,  too,  something  that 
was  fluttering  down  slowly  to  the  earth. 
He  called  his  orderly. 

"There's    a    parachute    falling    outside 
Fritz.     Go  and  get  it." 

He  turned  to  his  second  in  command. 

"We  shall  find,  Miiller,  that  this  visitor 
is  not  wholly  unconnected  with  our  dear 
friend  von  Mahl." 

"I  wish  von  Mahl  had  been  under  that 
bomb,"  grumbled  his  subordinate.  "Can't 
we  do  something  to  get  rid  of  him,  Herr 
Captain?" 

Zeiglemann  shook  his  head. 

"I  have  suggested  it  and  had  a  rap  over 
the  knuckles  for  my  pains.     The  fellow  is 
getting  us  a  very  bad  name." 
108 


THE  LAW-BREAKER 

Five  minutes  later  his  orderly  came  to  the 
group  of  which  Zeiglemann  was  the  center 
and  handed  him  a  small  linen  parachute  and 
a  weighted  bag.  The  squadron-leader  was 
cutting  the  string  which  bound  the  mouth 
of  the  bag  when  a  shrill  voice  said: 

"Herr  Captain,  do  be  careful;  there 
might  be  a  bomb." 

There  was  a  little  chuckle  of  laughter 
from  the  group,  and  Zeiglemann  glowered 
at  the  speaker,  a  tall,  unprepossessing  youth 
whose  face  was  red  with  excitement. 

"Herr  von  Mahl,"  he  snapped  with  true 
Prussian  ferocity,  "the  air-services  do  not 
descend  to  such  tricks  nor  do  they  shoot  at 
burning  machines." 

"Herr  Captain,"  spluttered  the  youth,  "I 
do  what  I  think  is  my  duty  to  my  Kaiser  and 
my  Fatherland." 

He  saluted  religiously. 

To  this  there  was  no  reply,  as  he  well 
knew,  and  Captain  Zeiglemann  finished  his 
work  in  silence.     The  bag  was  opened.     He 
put  in  his  hand  and  took  out  a  letter. 
109 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

"I  thought  so,"  he  said,  looking  at  the 
address;  "this  is  for  you,  von  Mahl."  He 
handed  it  to  the  youth,  who  tore  open  the 
envelope. 

They  crowded  about  him  and  read  it  over 
his  shoulder: 

"THIS  IS  THE  FIRST  WARN- 
ING OF  THE  AVENGER.    SHAKE 
IN  YEER  SHOES.     TREMBLE! 
Surround  ye'sel  with  guards  and  walls 
And  hide  behind  the  cannon  balls, 
And  dig  ye'sel  into  the  earth. 
Ye'll  yet  regret  yeer  day  of  birth. 
For  Tarn  the  Scoot  is  on  yeer  track 
And  soon  yeer  dome  will  start  to  crack!" 

It  was  signed  with  a  skull  and  cross-bones. 

The  young  man  looked  bewildered  from 
one  to  the  other.     Every  face  was  straight. 

"What — what  is  this?"  he  stammered ;  "is 
it  not  absurd?  Is  it  not  frivolous,  Herr 
Captain?" 

He  laughed  his  high,  shrill  little  laugh, 
but  nobody  uttered  a  sound. 

"This  is  serious,  of  course,  von  Mahl," 
110 


THE  LAW-BREAKER 

said  Zeiglemann  soberly.  "Although  this 
is  your  private  quarrel,  the  squadron  will  do 
its  best  to  save  you." 

"But,  but  this  is  stupid  foolishness,"  said 
von  Mahl  as  he  savagely  tore  the  note  into 
little  pieces  and  flung  them  down.  "I  will 
go  after  this  fellow  and  kill  him.  I  will 
deal  with  this  Herr  Tarn." 

"You  will  do  as  you  wish,  Herr  von 
Mahl,  but  first  you  shall  pick  up  those  pieces 
of  paper,  for  it  is  my  order  that  the  aero- 
drome shall  be  kept  clean." 

Tarn  swooped  back  to  his  headquarters  in 
time  for  breakfast  and  made  his  report. 

"The  next  time  you  do  tricks  over  Rou- 
lers  they'll  be  waiting  for  you,  Tarn,"  said 
Blackie  with  a  shake  of  his  head.  "I 
shouldn't  strain  that  warning  stunt  of 
yours." 

"Sir-r,"  said  Tarn,  "A've  no  intention  of 
riskin'  government  property." 

"I'm  not  thinking  of  the  machine,  but  of 
you." 

"A'  was  thinkin'  the  same  way,"  said  Tarn 
111 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

coolly.  "  'Twould  be  a  national  calamity. 
A'  doot  but  even  the  Scotsmati  would  be 
thrown  into  mournin' — 'Intelligence  reaches 
us,'  says  our  great  contempor'y,  'from  the 
Western  Front  which  will  bring  sorrow  to 
nearly  every  Scottish  home  reached  by  our 
widely  sairculated  journal,  an'  even  to 
others.  Tarn  the  Scoot,  the  intreepid  air- 
man, has  gone  west.  The  wee  hero  tackled 
single-handed  thairty-five  enemy  'busses,  to 
wit,  Mr.  MacBissing's  saircus,  an'  fell,  a 
victim  to  his  own  indomitable  fury  an'  hot 
temper,  after  destroyin'  thairty-one  of  the 
enemy.  Glascae  papers  (if  there  are  any) 
please  copy.'  " 

That  Blackie's  fears  were  well  founded 
was  proved  later  in  the  morning.  Tarn 
found  the  way  to  Roulers  barred  by  an 
Archie  barrage  which  it  would  have  been 
folly  to  challenge.  He  turned  south,  avoid- 
ing certain  cloud  masses,  and  had  the  grati- 
fication of  seeing  "the  circus"  swoop  down 
from  the  fleece  in  a  well-designed  encircling 
formation. 

112 


THE  LAW-BREAKER 

Tarn  swung  round  and  made  for  Ypres, 
but  again  found  a  barring  formation. 

He  turned  again,  this  time  straight  for 
home,  dropping  his  post-bag  (he  had  cor- 
rectly addressed  his  letter  and  he  knew  it 
would  be  delivered),  shot  down  out  of  con- 
trol a  diving  enemy  machine  that  showed 
fight,  chased  a  slow  "spotter"  to  earth,  and 
flashed  over  the  British  trenches  less  than 
two  hundred  feet  from  the  ground  with  his 
wings  shot  to  ribbons— for  the  circus  had 
got  to  within  machine-gun  range. 

A  week  later  Lieutenant  von  Mahl 
crossed  the  British  lines  at  a  height  of  fifteen 
hundred  feet,  bombed  a  billet  and  a  casualty 
clearing  station  and  dropped  an  insolent 
note  addressed  to  "The  Englishman  Tamm." 
He  did  not  wait  for  an  answer,  which  came 
at  one  o'clock  on  the  following  morning — a 
noisy  and  a  terrifying  answer. 

"This  has  ceased  to  be  amusing,"  said 
Captain  von  Zeiglemann,  emerging  from  his 
bomb-proof  shelter,  and  wired  a  requisition 
113 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

for  three  machines  to  replace  those  "de- 
stroyed by  enemy  action,"  and  approval  for 
certain  measures  of  reprisal.  "As  for  that 
pig-dog  von  Mahl  .  .  ." 

"He  has  received  his  fifth  warning,"  said 
his  unsmiling  junior,  "and  he  is  not  happy." 

Von  Mahl  was  decidedly  not  happy.  His 
commandant  found  him  rather  pale  and 
shaking,  sitting  in  his  room.  He  leaped  up 
as  von  Zeiglemann  entered,  clicked  his  heels 
and  saluted.  Without  a  word  the  com- 
mandant took  the  letter  from  his  hand  and 
read: 

If  ye  go  to  Germany  A'll  follow  ye.  If  ye  gae  hame 
to  yeer  mither  A'll  find  the  house  and  bomb  ye.  A'll 
never  leave  ye,  AIcMahl. 

Tam  the  Avenger. 

"So!"  was  von  Zeiglemann's  comment. 

"It  is  rascality!  It  is  monstrous!" 
squeaked  the  lieutenant.  "It  is  against  the 
rules  of  war!  What  shall  I  do,  Herr  Cap- 
tain?" 

"Go  up  and  find  Tam  and  shoot  him," 
114- 


THE  LAW-BREAKER 

said   Zeiglemann   dryly.     "It   is   a   simple 
matter." 

"But — but — do  you  think — do  you  be- 
lieve—?1' 

Zeiglemann  nodded. 

"I  think  he  will  keep  his  word.  Do  not 
forget,  Herr  Lieutenant,  that  Tam  brought 
down  von  Muller,  the  greatest  airman  that 
the  Fatherland  ever  knew." 

"Von  Muller!" 

The  young  man's  face  went  a  shade  paler. 
The  story  of  von  Muller  and  his  feud  with 
an  "English"  airman  and  of  the  disastrous 
sequel  to  that  feud,  was  common  knowledge 
throughout  Germany. 

Walking  back  to  Command  Headquar- 
ters, von  Zeiglemann  expressed  his  private 
views  to  his  confidant. 

"If  Tam  can  scare  this  money-bag  back  to 
Frankfurt,  he  will  render  us  a  service." 

"He  asked  me  where  I  thought  he  would 
be  safe — he  is  thinking  of  asking  for  a  trans- 
fer to  the  eastern  front,"  said  Zeiglemann's 
assistant. 

115 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

"And  you  said — " 

"I  told  him  that  the  only  safe  place  was  a 
British  prison  camp." 

"Please  the  good  God  he  reaches  there," 
said  Zeiglemann  piously,  "but  he  will  be  a 
fortunate  man  if  he  ever  lands  alive  from  a 
fight  with  Tarn.  Do  not,  I  command  you, 
allow  him  to  go  up  alone.  We  must  guard 
the  swine — keep  him  in  the  formation." 

Von  Zeiglemann  went  up  in  his  roaring 
little  single-seater  and  ranged  the  air  behind 
the  German  lines,  seeking  Tarn.  By  sheer 
luck  he  was  brought  down  by  a  chance 
Archie  shell  and  fell  with  a  sprained  ankle 
in  the  German  support-trenches,  facing  Ar- 
mentiers. 

"A  warning  to  me  to  leave  Mahl  to  fight 
his  own  quarrels,"  he  said  as  he  limped  from 
the  car  which  had  been  sent  to  bring  him  in. 

There  comes  to  every  man  to  whom  has 
been  interpreted  the  meaning  of  fear  a  mo- 
ment of  exquisite  doubt  in  his  own  courage, 
a  bewildering  collapse  of  faith  that  begins* 
in  uneasy  fears  and  ends  in  blind  panic. 
116 


THE  LAW-BREAKER 

Von  Mahl  had  courage — an  airman  can  not 
be  denied  that  quality  whatever  his  nation- 
ality may  be — but  it  was  a  mechanical  valor 
based  upon  an  honest  belief  in  the  superior- 
ity of  the  average  German  over  all — friends 
or  rivals. 

He  had  come  to  the  flying  service  from 
the  Corps  of  the  Guard;  to  the  Corps  of 
the  Guard  from  the  atmosphere  of  High 
Finance,  wherein  men  reduce  all  values  to 
the  denomination  of  the  mark  and  appraise 
all  virtues  by  the  currency  of  the  country 
in  which  that  virtue  is  found. 

His  supreme  confidence  in  the  mark  evap- 
orated under  the  iron  rule  of  a  colonel  who 
owned  three  lakes  and  a  range  of  mountains 
and  an  adjutant  who  had  four  surnames  and 
used  them  all  at  once. 

His  confidence  in  the  superiority  of  Ger- 
man arms,  somewhat  shaken  at  Verdun,  re- 
vived after  his  introduction  to  the  flying 
service,  attained  to  its  zenith  at  the  moment 
when  he  incurred  the  prejudices  of  Tarn, 
and  from  that  moment  steadily  declined. 
117 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

The  deterioration  of  morale  in  a  soldier 
is  a  difficult  process  to  reduce  to  description. 
It  may  be  said  that  it  has  its  beginnings  in 
respect  for  your  enemy  and  reaches  its  cul- 
minating point  in  contempt  for  your  com- 
rades. Before  you  reach  that  point  you 
have  passed  well  beyond  the  stage  when 
you  had  any  belief  in  yourself. 

Von  Mahl  had  arrived  at  the  level  of  de- 
scent when  he  detached  himself  from  his 
comrades  and  sat  brooding,  his  knuckles  to 
his  teeth,  reviewing  his  abilities  and  count- 
ing over  all  the  acts  of  injustice  to  which  he 
had  been  subjected. 

Von  Zeiglemann,  watching  him,  ordered 
him  fourteen  days'  leave,  and  the  young  of- 
ficer accepted  the  privilege  somewhat  re- 
luctantly. 

There  was  a  dear  fascination  in  the  dan- 
ger, he  imagined.  He  had  twice  crossed 
fire  with  Tarn  and  now  knew  him,  his  ma- 
chine, and  his  tactics  almost  intimately. 

Von  Mahl  left  for  Brussels  en  route  for 
Frankfurt  and  two  days  later  occurred  one 
118 


THE  LAW-BREAKER 

of  those  odd  accidents  of  war  which  have  so 
often  been  witnessed. 

Tarn  was  detailed  to  make  one  of  a  strong 
raiding  party  which  had  as  its  objective  a 
town  just  over  the  Belgian-German  fron- 
tier. It  was  carried  out  successfully  and 
the  party  was  on  its  way  home  when  Tarn, 
who  was  one  of  the  fighting  escort,  was  vio- 
lently engaged  by  two  machines,  both  of 
which  he  forced  down.  In  the  course  of  a 
combat  he  was  compelled  to  come  to  within 
a  thousand  feet  of  the  ground  and  was  on 
the  point  of  climbing  when,  immediately 
beneath  him,  a  long  military  railway  train 
emerged  from  a  tunnel.  Tarn  carried  no 
bombs,  but  he  had  two  excellent  machine 
guns,  and  he  swooped  joyously  to  the  fray. 

A  few  feet  from  the  ground  he  flat- 
tened and,  running  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion to  that  which  the  train  was  taking, 
he  loosed  a  torrent  of  fire  into  the  side  of 
the  carriages. 

Von  Mahl,  looking  from  the  window  of  a 
first-class  carriage,  saw  in  a  flash  the  ma- 
119 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

chine  and  its  pilot — then  the  windows  splin- 
tered to  a  thousand  pieces  and  he  dropped 
white  and  palpitating  to  the  floor. 

He  came  to  Frankfurt  to  find  his  relations 
had  gone  to  Karlsruhe,  and  followed  them. 
The  night  he  arrived  Karlsruhe  was  bombed 
by  a  French  squadron.  .  .  .  Von  Mahl  saw 
only  a  score  of  flying  and  vengeful  Tarns. 
He  came  back  to  the  front  broken  in  spirit 
and  courage.  "The  only  place  you  can  be 
safe  is  an  English  internment  camp." 

He  chewed  his  knuckles  with  fierce  intent- 
ness  and  thought  the  matter  over. 

"A'm  delayin'  ma  seventh  warning"  said 
Tarn,  "for  A'm  no'  so  sure  that  McMahl  is 
aboot.  A've  no'  seen  the  wee  chiel  for  a 
gay  lang  time." 

"Honestly,  Tarn,"  said  young  Craig  (the 
last  of  the  Craigs,  his  two  brothers  having 
been  shot  down  over  Lille),  "do  you  really 
think  you  scare  Fritz?" 

Tarn  pulled  at  his  cigar  with  a  pained  ex- 
pression, removed  the  Corona  from  his 
mouth,  eyeing  it  with  a  disappointed  sneer, 
120 


THE  LAW-BREAKER 

and  sniffed  disparagingly  before  he  replied. 

"Sir-r,"  he  said,  "the  habits  of  the  Hoon, 
or  Gairman,  ha'e  been  ma  life  study.  Often 
in  the  nicht  when  ye  gentlemen  at  the  mess 
are  smokin'  bad  seegairs  an'  playin'  the  gam- 
blin'  game  o'  bridge-whist,  Tarn  o'  the 
Scoots  is  workin'  oot  problems  in  Gairman 
psych — I  forget  the  bonnie  waird.  There 
he  sits,  the  wee  man  wi'oot  so  much  as  a 
seegair  to  keep  him  company — thank  ye, 
sir-r,  A'll  not  smoke  it  the  noo,  but  'twill  be 
welcomed  by  one  of  the  sufferin'  mechanics 
— there  sits  Tarn,  gettin'  into  the  mind,  or 
substitute,  of  the  Hoon." 

"But  do  you  seriously  believe  that  you 
have  scared  him?" 

Tarn's  eyes  twinkled. 

"Mr.  Craig,  sir-r,  what  do  ye  fear  wairst 
in  the  world?" 

Craig  thought  a  moment. 

"Snakes,"  he  said. 

"An'  if  ye  wanted  to  strafe  a  feller  as  bad 
as  ye  could,  would  ye  put  him  amongst 
snakes?" 

121 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

"I  can't  imagine  anything  more  horrible," 
shuddered  Craig. 

"  'Tis  the  same  with  the  Hoon.  He  goes 
in  for  frichtfulness  because  he's  afraid  of 
frichtfulness.  He  bombs  little  toons  be- 
cause he's  scairt  of  his  ain  little  toons  bein' 
bombed.  Fie  believes  we  get  the  wind  up 
because  he'd  be  silly  wi'  terror  if  we  did  the 
same  thing  to  him.  Ye  can  always  scare  a 
Hoon — that's  ma  theery,  sir-r." 

Craig  had  no  further  opportunity  for  dis- 
cussing the  matter,  for  the  next  morning  he 
was  "concussed"  in  midair  and  retained  suf- 
ficient sense  to  bring  his  machine  to  the 
ground.  Unfortunately  the  ground  was  in 
the  temporary  occupation  of  the  German. 

So  Craig  went  philosophically  into  bond- 
age. 

He  was  taken  to  German  Headquarters 
and  handed  over  to  von  Zeiglemann's  wing 
"for  transport." 

"This  is  Mr.  von  Mahl,"  introduced  Zei- 
glemann  gravely    (they  were  going  in  to 
lunch)  ;  "you  have  heard  of  him." 
122 


THE  LAW-BREAKER 

Craig  raised  his  eyebrows,  for  the  spirit 
of  mischief  was  on  him. 

"Von  Mahl,"  he  said  with  well-assumed 
incredulity;  "why,  I  thought — oh,  by  the 
way,  is  to-day  the  sixteenth?" 

"To-morrow  is  the  sixteenth,"  snarled  von 
Mahl.  "What  happens  to-morrow,  Herr 
Englishman?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Craig  politely; 
"I'm  afraid  I  can  not  tell  you — it  would  not 
be  fair  to  Tarn." 

And  von  Mahl  went  out  in  a  sweat  of  fear. 

From  somewhere  overhead  came  a  sound 
like  a  snarl  of  a  buzz-saw  as  it  bites  into 
hard  wood.  Tarn,  who  was  walking  along 
a  deserted  by-road,  his  hands  in  his  breeches 
pockets,  his  forage  cap  at  the  back  of  his 
head,  looked  up  and  shaded  his  eyes. 
Something  as  big  as  a  house-fly,  and  black 
as  that,  was  moving  with  painful  slowness 
across  the  skies. 

Now,  there  is  only  one  machine  that 
makes  a  noise  like  a  buzz-saw  going  about 
123 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

its  lawful  business,  and  that  is  a  British 
battle-plane,  and  that  this  was  such  a  ma- 
chine, Tarn  knew. 

Why  it  should  be  flying  at  that  height  and 
in  a  direction  opposite  to  that  in  which  the 
battle-line  lay,  was  a  mystery. 

Usually  a  machine  begins  to  drop  as  it 
reaches  our  lines,  even  though  its  destina- 
tion may  be  far  beyond  the  aerodromes  im- 
mediately behind  the  line — even,  as  in  this 
case,  when  it  was  heading  straight  for  the 
sea  and  the  English  coast.  Nor  was  it 
customary  for  an  aeroplane  bound  for 
"Blighty"  to  begin  its  voyage  from  some 
point  behind  the  German  lines.  Tarn  stood 
for  fully  five  minutes  watching  the  leisurely 
speck  winging  westward;  then  he  retraced 
his  steps  to  the  aerodrome. 

He  found  at  the  entrance  a  little  group  of 
officers  who  were  equally  interested. 

"What  do  you  make  of  that  bus,  Tarn?" 
asked  Blackie. 

"She's  British,"  said  Tarn  cautiously. 

He  reached  out  his  hands  for  the  glasses 
124 


THE  LAW-BREAKER 

that  Blackie  was  offering,  and  focused  them 
on  the  disappearing  machine.  Long  and 
silently  he  watched  her.  The  sun  had  been 
behind  a  cloud,  but  now  one  ray  caught  the 
aeroplane  for  a  moment  and  turned  her  into 
a  sparkling  star  of  light.  Tarn  put  down 
his  glasses. 

"Yon's  Mr.  Craig's,"  he  said  impressively. 

"Craig's  machine?  What  makes  you 
think  so?" 

"Sir-r,"  said  Tarn,  "I  wad  know  her  any- 
wheer.  Yon's  Mr.  Craig's  'bus,  right 
enough." 

Blackie  turned  quickly  and  ran  to  his  of- 
fice. He  spun  the  handle  of  the  telephone 
and  gave  a  number. 

"That  you,  Calais?  There's  a  Boche  fly- 
ing one  of  our  machines  gone  in  your  direc- 
tion— yes,  one  that  came  down  in  his  lines 
lastweek.  A  Fairlight  battle-plane.  She's 
flying  at  sixteen  thousand  feet.  Warn 
Dover." 

He  hung  up  the  telephone  and  turned 
back. 

125 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

Holiday-makers  at  a  certain  British  coast 
town  were  treated  to  the  spectacle  of  an 
alarm. 

They  gathered  on  the  sands  and  on  the 
front  and  watched  a  dozen  English  ma- 
chines trekking  upward  in  wide  circles  until 
they  also  were  hovering  specks  in  the  sky. 
They  saw  them  wheel  suddenly  and  pass  out 
to  sea  and  then  those  who  possessed  strong 
glasses  noted  a  new  speck  coming  from  the 
east  and  presently  thirteen  machines  were 
mixed  up  and  confused,  like  the  spots  that 
come  before  the  eyes  of  some  one  afflicted 
with  a  liver. 

From  this  pickle  of  dots  one  slowly  de- 
scended and  the  trained  observers  standing 
at  a  point  of  vantage  whooped  for  joy,  for 
that  which  seemed  a  slow  descent  was,  in 
reality,  moving  twice  as  fast  as  the  swiftest 
express  train  and,  moreover,  they  knew  by 
certain  signs  that  it  was  falling  in  flames. 

A  gray  destroyer,  its  three  stacks  belching 
black  smoke,  cut  through  the  sea  and  circled 
about  the  debris  of  the  burning  machine. 
126 


THE  LAW-BREAKER 

A  little  boat  danced  through  the  waves 
and  a  young  man  was  hauled  from  the 
wreckage  uttering  strange  and  bitter  words 
of  hate. 

They  took  him  down  to  the  ward-room 
of  the  destroyer  and  propped  him  in  the 
commander's  armchair.  A  businesslike 
doctor  dabbed  two  ugly  cuts  in  his  head 
with  iodine  and  deftly  encircled  his  brow 
with  a  bandage.  A  navigating  lieutenant 
passed  him  a  whisky-and-soda. 

"If  you  speak  English,  my  gentle  lad," 
said  the  commander,  "honor  us  with  your 
rank,  title,  and  official  number." 

"Von  Mahl,"  snapped  the  young  man, 
"Royal  Prussian  Lieutenant  of  the  Guard." 

"You  take  our  breath  away,"  said  the  com- 
mander. "Will  you  explain  why  you  were 
flying  a  British  machine  carrying  the  Allied 
marks?" 

"I  shall  explain  nothing,"  boomed  the 
youth. 

He  was  not  pleasant  to  look  upon,  for  his 
head  was  closely  shaven  and  his  forehead 
127 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

receded.     Not  to  be  outdone  in  modesty,  his 
chin  was  also  of  a  retiring  character. 

"Before  I  hand  you  over  to  the  wild  men 
of  the  Royal  Naval  Air  Service,  who,  I  un- 
derstand, eat  little  things  like  you  on  toast, 
would  you  like  to  make  any  statement  which 
will  save  you  from  the  ignominious  end 
which  awaits  all  enterprising  young  heroes 
who  come  camouflaging  as  enterprising 
young  Britons?" 

Von  Mahl  hesitated. 

"I  came — because  I  saw  the  machine — it 
had  fallen  in  our  lines — it  was  an  impulse." 

He  slipped  his  hand  into  his  closely  but- 
toned tunic  and  withdrew  a  thick  wad  of 
canvas-backed  paper  which,  unfolded,  re- 
vealed itself  as  a  staff  map  of  England. 

This  he  spread  on  the  ward-room  table 
and  the  commander  observed  that  at  certain 
places  little  red  circles  had  been  drawn. 

"Uppingleigh,     Colnburn,     Exchester," 
said  the  destroyer  captain;  "but  these  aren't 
places    of    military    importance — they    are 
German  internment  camps." 
128 


THE  LAW-BREAKER 

"Exactly!"  said  von  Mahl;  "that  is  where 

I  go." 

In  this  he  spoke  the  truth,  for  to  one  of 
these  he  went. 


129 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  MAN  BEHIND  THE  CIRCUS 

THERE  comes  to  every  great  artist  a  mo- 
ment when  a  sense  of  the  futility  of  his  ef- 
forts weighs  upon  and  well-nigh  crushes 
him.  Such  an  oppression  represents  the  re- 
action which  follows  or  precedes  much  ex- 
cellent work.  The  psychologist  will,  per- 
haps, fail  to  explain  why  this  sense  of  empti- 
ness so  often  comes  before  a  man's  best 
accomplishments,  and  what  association  there 
is  between  that  dark  hour  of  anguish  which 
goes  before  the  dawn  of  vision,  and  the  per- 
fect opportunity  which  invariably  follows. 

Sergeant-Pilot  Tarn  struck  a  bad  patch  of 
luck.  In  the  first  place,  he  had  missed  a 
splendid  chance  of  catching  von  Rheinhoff, 
who  with  thirty-one  "crashes"  to  his  credit 
came  flaunting  his  immoral  triumph  in 
130 


THE  MAN  BEHIND  THE  CIRCUS 

Tarn's  territory.  Tarn  had  the  advantage 
of  position  and  had  attacked — and  his  guns 
had  jammed.  The  luck  was  not  altogether 
against  him,  for,  if  every  man  had  his  due, 
von  Rheinhoff  should  have  added  Tarn's 
scalp  to  the  list  of  his  thirty-one  victims. 

Tarn  only  saved  himself  by  taking  the  risk 
of  a  spinning  nose  dive  into  that  zone  of 
comparative  safety  which  is  represented  by 
the  distance  between  the  trajectories  of 
high-angle  guns  and  the  flatter  curve  made 
by  the  flight  of  the  eighteen-pounder  shell. 

Nor  were  his  troubles  at  an  end  that  day, 
for  later  he  received  instructions  to  watch 
an  observation  balloon,  which  had  been  the 
recipient  of  certain  embarrassing  attentions 
from  enemy  aircraft.  And  in  some  mirac- 
ulous fashion,  though  he  was  in  an  advan- 
tageous position  to  attack  any  daring  in- 
truder, he  had  been  circumvented  by  a  low- 
flying  Fokker. 

The  first  hint  he  received  that  the  obser- 
vation balloon  was  in  difficulties  came  when 
he  saw  the  two  observers  leap  into  space 
131 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

with  their  parachutes,  and  a  tiny  spiral  of 
smoke  ascend  from  the  fat  and  helpless 
"sausage." 

Tarn  dived  for  the  pirate  machine  fir- 
ing both  guns — then,  for  the  second  time 
that  day,  the  mechanism  of  his  gun  went 
wrong. 

"Accidents  will  happen,"  said  the  philo- 
sophical Blackie;  "you  can't  have  it  all  your 
own  way,  Tarn.  If  I  were  you  I'd  take  a 
couple  of  days  off — you  can  have  ten  days' 
leave  if  you  like,  you're  entitled  to  it." 

But  Tarn  shook  his  head.  "A'll  tak'  a 
day,  sir-r,"  he  said,  "for  meditation  an'  de- 
votional exercise  wi'  that  wee  bit  gun." 

So  he  turned  into  the  workshop  and 
stripped  the  weapon,  calling  each  part  by 
name  until  he  found,  in  a  slovenly  fitted 
ejector,  reason  and  excuse  for  exercising  his 
limitless  vocabulary  upon  that  faithless  part. 
He  also  said  many  things  about  the  work- 
man who  had  fitted  it. 

"Angus  Jones!     O  Angus  Jones!"   said 
Tarn,  shaking  his  head. 
132 


THE  MAN  BEHIND  THE  CIRCUS 

Tarn  never  spoke  of  anybody  imperson- 
ally. They  were  christened  instantly  and 
became  such  individual  realities  that  you 
could  almost  swear  that  you  knew  them,  for 
Tarn  would  carefully  equip  them  with  fea- 
tures and  color,  height  and  build,  and  fre- 
quently invented  for  the  most  unpopular  of 
his  imaginary  people  relatives  of  offensive 
reputations. 

"Angus,  ma  wee  lad,"  he  murmured  as 
his  nimble  fingers  grew  busy,  "ye've  been 
drinkin'  again!  Nay,  don't  deny  it!  A' 
see  ye  comin'  out  of  Hennessy's  the  fore- 
noon. An'  ye've  a  wife  an'  six  children,  the 
shame  on  ye  to  treat  a  puir  woman  so !  An- 
other blunder  like  this  an'  ye'll  lose  yeer 
job." 

A  further  fault  was  discovered  in  a  stiff 
feed-block,  and  here  Tarn  grew  bitter  and 
personal. 

"Will  ye  do  this,  Hector  Brodie  McKay? 

Man,  can  ye  meet  the  innocent  gaze  o'  the 

passin'  soldiery  an'  no'   feel  a  mairderer? 

An'  wi'  a  face  like  that,  ravaged  an'  seaun 

133 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

fra'   vicious   livin' — for   shame,   ye   scrim- 
shankin',  lazy  guid-for-nawthing!" 

He  worked  far  into  the  night,  for  he  was 
tireless,  and  appeared  on  parade  the  next 
morning  fresh  and  bright  of  eye. 

"Tarn,  when  you're  feeling  better  I'd  like 
you  to  dodge  over  the  German  lines.  Be- 
hind Lille  there's  a  new  Hun  Corps  Head- 
quarters, and  there's  something  unusual  on." 

Tarn  went  out  that  afternoon  in  the  clear 
cold  sky  and  found  that  there  was  indeed 
something  doing. 

Lille  was  guarded  as  he  had  never  re- 
membered its  being  guarded  before,  by 
three  belts  of  fighting  machines.  His  first 
attempt  to  break  through  brought  a  verit- 
able swarm  of  hornets  about  his  ears.  The 
air  reverberated  with  Archie  fire  of  a  pe- 
culiar and  unusual  intensity  long  before  he 
came  within  striking  distance  of  the  first 
zone. 

Tarn  saw  the  angry  rush  of  the  guardian 
machines  and  turned  his  little  Nieuport 
homeward. 

134 


THE  MAN  BEHIND  THE  CIRCUS 

"A'richt!  A'richt!  What's  frichtenin' 
ye?"  he  demanded  indignantly,  as  they 
streaked  behind  his  tail.  "A'm  no'  anxious 
to  put  ma  nose  where  it's  no'  wanted!" 

He  shook  off  his  pursuers  and  turned  on 
a  wide  circle,  crossed  the  enemy's  line  on  the 
Vimy  Ridge  and  came  back  across  the  black 
coal-fields  near  Billy-Montigny.  But  his 
attempt  to  run  the  gauntlet  and  to  cross 
Lille  from  the  eastward  met  with  no  better 
success,  and  he  escaped  via  Menin  and  the 
Ypres  salient. 

"Ma  luck's  oot,"  he  reported  glumly. 
"There's  no  road  into  Lille  or  ower  Lille — 
ye'd  better  send  a  submarine  up  the  Liza." 

Tarn  had  never  thoroughly  learned  the 
difference  between  the  Yser  and  the  Lys 
and  gave  both  rivers  a  generic  title. 

"Did  you  see  any  concentrations  east  of 
the  town?"  asked  Blackie. 

"Beyond  an  epidemic  of  mad  Gairman 

airplanes  an'  a  violent  eruption  of  Archies, 

the  hateful  enemy  shows  no  sign  o'  life  or 

movement,"  said  Tarn.     "Man,  A've  never 

135 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

wanted  so  badly  to  look  into  Lille  till  now." 

Undoubtedly  there  was  something  to  hide. 
Young  Turpin,  venturing  where  Tarn  had 
nearly  trod,  was  shot  down  by  gun-fire  and 
taken  prisoner.  Missel,  a  good  flyer,  was 
outfought  by  three  opponents  and  slid  home 
with  a  dead  observer,  limp  and  smiling  in 
the  fuselage. 

"To-morrow  at  daybreak,  look  for  Tarn 
amongst  the  stars,"  said  that  worthy  young 
man  as  he  backed  out  of  Blackie's  office,  "the 
disgustin'  incivility  o'  the  Hoon  has  aroosed 
the  fichtin'  spirit  o'  the  dead-an'-gone  Mac- 
Tavishes.  Every  fiber  in  ma  body,  includ- 
in'  ma  suspenders,  is  tense  wi'  rage  an'  hor- 
ror." 

"A  cigar,  Tarn?" 

"No,  thank  ye,  sir-r,"  said  Tarn,  waving 
aside  the  proffered  case  and  extracting  two 
cigars  in  one  motion.  "Well,  perhaps  A'd 
better.  A've  run  oot  o'  seegairs,  an'  the 
thoosand  A'  ordered  frae  ma  Glasgae  factor 
hae  been  sunk  by  enemy  action — this  is  no' 
a  bad  seegair,  Captain  Blackie,  sir-r.  It's  a 
136 


THE  MAN  BEHIND  THE  CIRCUS 

verra  passable  smoke  an'  no'  dear  at  four- 
pence." 

"That  cigar  costs  eight  pounds  a  hun- 
dred," said  Blackie,  nettled. 

"Ye'll  end  yeer  days  in  the  puirhouse," 
said  Tarn. 

True  to  his  promise  he  swept  over  Lille 
the  next  morning  and  to  his  amazement  no 
particular  resistance  was  offered.  He  was 
challenged  half-heartedly  by  a  solitary  ma- 
chine, he  was  banged  at  by  A-A  guns,  but 
encountered  nothing  of  that  intensity  of  fire 
which  met  him  on  his  earlier  visit. 

And  Lille  was  the  Lille  he  knew:  the 
three  crooked  boulevards,  the  jumble  of 
small  streets,  and  open  space  before  the  rail- 
way station.  There  was  no  evidence  of  any 
unusual  happening — no  extraordinary  col- 
lection of  rolling  stock  in  the  tangled  sid- 
ings, or  gatherings  of  troops  in  the  outskirts 
of  the  town. 

Tarn  was  puzzled  and  pushed  eastward. 
He  pursued  his  investigations  as  far  as  Rou- 
baix,  then  swept  southward  to  Douai. 
137 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

Here  he  came  against  exactly  the  same  kind 
of  resistance  which  he  had  found  on  his  first 
visit  to  Lille.  There  were  the  three  circles 
of  fighting  machines,  the  strengthened 
Archie  batteries,  the  same  furious  eagerness 
to  attack. 

Tarn  went  home  followed  by  three  swift 
fighters.  He  led  them  to  within  gliding 
distance  of  the  Allied  lines;  then  he  turned, 
and  this  time  his  guns  served  him,  for  he 
crashed  one  and  forced  one  down.  The 
third  went  home  and  told  Fritz  all  about  it. 

"It's  verra  curious,"  said  Tarn,  and 
Blackie  agreed. 

Tarn  went  out  again  the  following  morn- 
ing— but  this  time  not  alone.  Six  fighting 
machines,  with  Blackie  leading,  headed  for 
Douai  in  battle  formation.  At  Douai  they 
met  no  resistance — the  aerial  concentration 
had  vanished  and,  save  for  the  conventional 
defenses,  there  was  nothing  to  prevent  their 
appearance  over  the  town.  That  same  aft- 
ernoon Captain  Sutton,  R.  F.  C,  looking 
for  an  interest  in  life  over  Menin,  found  it. 
138 


THE  MAN  BEHIND  THE  CIRCUS 

He  came  back  with  his  fuselage  shot  to 
chips  and  wet  through  from  a  smashed  radi- 
ator. 

"So  far  as  I  can  discover,1'  he  said,  "all 
the  circuses  are  hovering  about  Menin. 
Von  Bissing's  is  there  and  von  Rheinhoff's, 
and  I  could  almost  swear  I  saw  von  Wentzl's 
red  scouts." 

"Did  you  get  over  the  town?" 

Sutton  laughed.  "I  was  a  happy  man 
when  I  reached  our  lines,"  he  said. 

"Maybe  they're  trying  out  some  new 
stunt,"  said  Blackie.  "Probably  it  is  a  plan 
of  defense — a  sort  of  divisional  training — 
I'll  send  a  report  to  G.  H.  Q.  I  don't  like 
this  concentration  of  circuses  in  our  neigh- 
borhood." 

Now  a  "circus"  is  a  strong  squadron  of 
German  airplanes  attached  to  no  particular 
army,  but  employed  on  those  sectors  where 
its  activities  will  be  of  most  value  at  a  criti- 
cal time;  and  its  appearance  is  invariably  a 
cause  for  rejoicing  among  all  red-blooded 
adventurers. 

139 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

Two  days  after  Blackie  had  made  his  re- 
port, von  Bissing's  World-Renowned  Cir- 
cus was  giving  a  performance,  and  on  this 
occasion  was  under  royal  and  imperial  pat- 
ronage. 

For,  drawn  up  by  the  side  of  the  snowy 
road,  some  miles  in  the  rear  of  the  line  were 
six  big  motor-cars,  and  on  a  high  bank  near 
to  the  road  was  a  small  group  of  staff  officers 
muffled  from  chin  to  heels  in  long  gray  over- 
coats, clumsily  belted  at  the  waist. 

Aloof  from  the  group  was  a  man  of  me- 
dium height,  stoutly  built  and  worn  of  face, 
whose  expression  was  one  of  eager  impa- 
tience. The  face,  caricatured  a  hundred 
thousand  times,  was  hawklike,  the  eyes 
bright  and  searching,  the  chin  out-thrust. 
He  had  a  nervous  trick  of  jerking  his  head 
sideways  as  though  he  were  everlastingly 
suffering  from  a  crick  in  the  neck. 

Now  and  again  he  raised  his  glasses  to 
watch  the  leader  as  he  controlled  the  evolu- 
tions of  the  twenty-five  airplanes  which  con- 
stituted the  "circus." 

140 


THE  MAN  BEHIND  THE  CIRCUS 

It  was  a  sight  well  worth  watching. 

First  in  a  great  V,  like  a  flock  of  wild 
geese,  the  squadron  swept  across  the  sky, 
every  machine  in  its  station.  Then,  at  a 
signal  from  the  leader,  the  V  broke  into 
three  diamond-shaped  formations,  with  the 
leader  at  the  apex  of  the  triangle  which  the 
three  flights  formed.  Another  signal  and 
the  circus  broke  into  momentary  confusion, 
to  reform  with  much  banking  and  wheeling 
into  a  straight  line — again  with  the  leader 
ahead.  Backward  and  forward  swept  the 
line;  changed  direction  and  wheeled  until 
the  machines  formed  a  perfect  circle  in  the 
sky. 

"Splendid!"  barked  the  man  with  the 
jerking  head. 

An  officer,  who  stood  a  few  paces  to  his 
rear,  stepped  up  smartly,  saluted,  and  came 
rigidly  to  attention. 

"Splendid!"  said  the  other  again.     "You 

will  tell  Captain  Baron  von  Bissing  that  I 

am  pleased   and   that  I   intend  bestowing 

upon  him  the  Order  Pour  la  Merite.     His 

141 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

arrangements  for  my  protection  at  Lille  and 
Douai  and  Menin  were  perfect." 

"Majesty,"  said  the  officer,  "your  message 
shall  be  delivered." 

The  sightseer  swept  the  heavens  again. 
"I  presume  that  the  other  machine  is  posted 
as  a  sentinel,"  he  said.  "That  is  a  most  ex- 
cellent idea — it  is  flying  at  an  enormous 
height.     Who  is  the  pilot?" 

The  officer  turned  and  beckoned  one  of 
the  group  behind  him.  "His  Majesty 
wishes  to  know  who  is  the  pilot  of  the  sen- 
tinel machine?"  he  asked. 

The  officer  addressed  raised  his  face  to 
the  heavens  with  a  little  frown. 

"The  other  machine,  general?"  he  re- 
peated.    "There  is  no  other  machine." 

He  focused  his  glasses  on  the  tiniest  black 
spot  in  the  skies.  Long  and  seriously  he 
viewed  the  lonely  watcher,  then : 

"General,"  he  said  hastily,  "it  is  advisable 
that  his  Majesty  should  go." 

"Huh?" 

142 


THE  MAN  BEHIND  THE  CIRCUS 

"I  can  not  distinguish  the  machine,  but  it 
looks  suspicious." 

"Whoom!     Whoom!" 

A  field  away,  two  great  brown  geysers  of 
earth  leaped  up  into  the  air  and  two  deafen- 
ing explosions  set  the  bare  branches  of  the 
trees  swaying. 

Down  the  bank  scrambled  the  distin- 
guished party  and  in  a  few  seconds  the  cars 
were  streaking  homeward. 

The  circus  was  now  climbing  desperately, 
but  the  watcher  on  high  had  a  big  margin  of 
safety. 

"Whoom!" 

Just  to  the  rear  of  the  last  staff  car  fell 
the  bomb,  blowing  a  great  hole  in  the  paved 
road  and  scattering  stones  and  debris  over 
a  wide  area. 

The  cars  fled  onward,  skidding  at  every 
turn  of  the  road,  and  the  bombs  followed  or 
preceded  them,  or  else  flung  up  the  earth 
to  left  or  right. 

"That's  the  tenth  and  the  last,  thank 
143 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

God!"  said  the  sweating  aide-de-camp. 
"Heaven  and  thunder!  what  an  almost  ca- 
tastrophe!" 

In  the  amazing  spaces  of  the  air,  a  lean 
face,  pinched  and  blue  with  the  cold,  peered 
over  the  fuselage  and  watched  the  antlike 
procession  of  pin-point  dots  moving  slowly 
along  the  snowy  road. 

"That's  ma  last!"  he  said,  and  picking  up 
an  aerial  torpedo  from  between  his  feet,  he 
dropped  it  over  the  side. 

It  struck  the  last  car,  which  dissolved 
noisily  into  dust  and  splinters,  while  the 
force  of  the  explosion  overturned  the  car 
ahead. 

"A  bonnie  shot,"  said  Tarn  o'  the  Scoots 
complacently,  and  banked  over  as  he  turned 
for  home.  He  shot  a  glance  at  the  climbing 
circus  and  judged  that  there  was  no  perma- 
nent advantage  to  be  secured  from  an  en- 
gagement. Nevertheless  he  loosed  a  drum 
of  ammunition  at  the  highest  machine  and 
grinned  when  he  saw  two  rips  appear  in  the 
wing  of  his  machine. 

144 


THE  MAN  BEHIND  THE  CIRCUS 

By  the  time  he  passed  over  the  German 
line  all  the  Archies  in  the  world  were  blaz- 
ing at  him,  but  Tarn  was  at  an  almost  record 
height — the  height  where  men  go  dizzy  and 
sick  and  suffer  from  internal  bleeding. 
Over  the  German  front-line  trenches  he 
dipped  steeply  down,  but  such  had  been  his 
altitude  that  he  was  still  ten  thousand  feet 
high  when  he  leveled  out  above  his  aero- 
drome. 

He  descended  in  wide  circles,  his  machine 
canted  all  the  time  at  an  angle  of  forty-five 
degrees  and  lighted  gently  on  the  even  sur- 
face of  the  field  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after 
he  had  crossed  the  line. 

He  descended  to  the  ground  stiff  and 
numb,  and  Bertram  walked  across  from  his 
own  machine  to  make  inquiries. 

"Parky,  Tarn?" 

"It's  no'  so  parky,  Mr.  Bertram,  sir-r," 
replied  Tarn  cautiously. 

"Rot,  Tarn!"  said  that  youthful  officer. 
"Why,  your  nose  is  blue!" 

"Awed,"  admitted  Tarn.     "But  that's  no' 
145 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

cold,  that's — will  ye  look  at  ma  altitude  rec- 
ord?" 

The  young  man  climbed  into  the  fusel- 
age, looked  and  gasped. 

"Dear  lad!"  he  said,  "have  you  been  to 
heaven?" 

"Verra  near,  sir-r,"  said  Tarn  gravely; 
"another  ten  gallons  o1  essence  an'  A'd  'a' 
made  it.  A've  been  that  high  that  A'  could 
see  the  sun  risin'  to-morrow!" 

He  started  to  walk  off  to  his  quarters  but 
stopped  and  turned  back.  "Don't  go  near 
McBissing's  caircus,"  he  warned ;  "he's  feel- 
in'  sore." 

Tarn  made  a  verbal  report  to  Blackie,  and 
Blackie  got  on  to  Headquarters  by  'phone. 

"Tarn  seems  to  have  had  an  adventure, 
sir,"  he  said,  when  he  had  induced  H.  Q. 
exchange  to  connect  him  with  his  general 
and  gave  the  lurid  details. 

"It  might  be  Hindenburg,"  said  the  gen- 
eral thoughtfully.  "He's  on  the  Western 
Front  somewhere — that  may  explain  the 
appearance  of  the  circuses — or  it  may  have 
146 


THE  MAN  BEHIND  THE  CIRCUS 

been  a  corps  general  showing  off  the  circus 
to  a  few  trippers  from  Berlin — they  are 
always  running  Reichstag  members  and 
pressmen  round  this  front.  Get  Tarn  to 
make  a  report — his  own  report,  not  one  you 
have  edited."  Blackie  heard  him  chuckle. 
"I  showed  the  last  one  to  the  army  com- 
mander and  he  was  tickled  to  death — hurry 
it  along,  I'm  dying  to  see  it." 

If  there  is  one  task  which  an  airman  dis- 
likes more  than  any  other,  it  is  report-writ- 
ing. Tarn  was  no  exception,  and  his  writ- 
ten accounts  of  the  day's  work  were  models 
of  briefness. 

In  the  days  of  his  extreme  youth  he  had 
been  engaged  in  labor  which  did  not  call 
for  the  clerical  qualities,  and  roughly  his 
written  "reports"  were  modeled  on  the 
"time  sheets"  he  was  wont  to  render  in  that 
far-off  period,  when  he  dwelt  in  lodgings  at 
Govan,  and  worked  at  McArdle's  Ship- 
building Yard. 

Thus: 


147 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

Left  aerodrome  6  a.  m. 

Enemy  patrols  encountered 5 

Ditto  ditto  chased   4 

Ditto  ditto  forced  down 2 

Bombs  dropped  on  Verleur  Station 5 

&c,  &c. 

Fortunately  Tarn  possessed  a  romantic 
and  a  poetical  soul,  and  there  were  rare  oc- 
casions when  he  would  offer  a  lyrical  ac- 
count of  his  adventures  containing  more 
color  and  detail.  As,  for  example,  his 
account  of  his  fight  with  Lieutenant  Prince 
Zwartz-Hamelyn : 

"Oh,  wad  some  power  the  giftie  gi'e  us 
Tae  see  oursel's  as  ithers  see  us." 
Thus  spake  a  high  an'  princely  Hun 
As  he  fired  at  Tarn  wi'  his  Maxim  gun. 
Thinkin',  na  doot,  that  bonnie  lad 
Was  lookin',  if  no'  feelin',  bad. 
But  Tarn  he  stalled  his  wee  machine 
An'  straffit  young  Zwartz-Hamelyn. 

It  was  Blackie  who  harnessed  Tarn's  gen- 
ius for  description  to  the  pencil  of  a  stenog- 
rapher, and  thereafter,  when  a  long  report 
was  needed  by  Headquarters,  there  would 
148 


THE  MAN  BEHIND  THE  CIRCUS 

appear  at  Tarn's  quarters  one  Corporal 
Alexander  Brown,  Blackie's  secretary,  and 
an  amiable  cockney  who  wrote  mystic  char- 
acters in  a  notebook  with  great  rapidity. 

"Is  it  ye,  Alec?"  said  Tarn,  suspending 
his  ablutions  to  open  the  door  of  his 
"bunk."  "Come  away  in,  man.  Is  it  a  re- 
port ye  want?  Sit  down  on  the  bed  an'  help 
yeersel'  to  the  seegairs.  Ye'll  find  the 
whisky  in  the  decanter." 

Corporal  Brown  sat  on  the  bed  because 
he  knew  it  was  there.  He  dived  into  his 
pocket  and  produced  a  notebook,  a  pencil 
and  a  cigaret,  because  he  knew  they  had  ex- 
istence, too.  He  did  not  attempt  to  search 
for  the  cigars  and  the  whisky  because  he 
had  been  fooled  before,  and  had  on  two  sep- 
arate occasions  searched  the  bunk  for  these 
delicacies  under  the  unsmiling  eyes  of  Tarn 
and  aided  by  Tarn's  advice,  only  to  find  in 
the  end  that  Tarn  was  as  anxious  to  discover 
such  treasures  as  the  baffled  corporal  him- 
self. 

"We  will  noo  proceed  with  the  thrillin' 
149 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

serial,"  said  Tarn,  spreading  his  towel  on 
the  window-ledge  and  rolling  down  his 
shirt-sleeves.     "Are  ye  ready,  Alec?" 

"  'Arf  a  mo',  Sergeant — have  you  got  a 
match?" 

"Man,  ye're  a  cadger  of  the  most  appal- 
lin'  descreeption,"  said  Tarn  severely. 
"A'm  lookin'  for'ard  to  the  day  when  it'll 
be  a  coort-martial  offense  to  ask  yeer  supe- 
rior officer  for  matches — here's  one.  Don't 
strike  it  till  ye  give  me  one  of  yeer  common 
cigarets." 

The  corporal  produced  a  packet. 

"A'll  ask  ye  as  a  favor  not  to  let  the  men 
know  A've  descended  to  this  low  an'  vulgar 
habit,"  said  Tarn.  "A'll  take  two  or  three 
as  curiosities — A'd  like  to  show  the  offi- 
cers the  kind  o'  poison  the  lower  classes 
smoke — " 

"Here!  Leave  me  a  couple!"  said  the 
alarmed  non-commissioned  officer  as  Tarn's 
skilful  fingers  half  emptied  the  box. 

"Be  silent!"  said  Tarn,  "ye're  interruptin' 
ma  train  o'  thochts — what  did  A'  say  last?" 
150 


THE  MAN  BEHIND  THE  CIRCUS 

"You  said  nothing  yet,"  replied  the  cor- 
poral, rescuing  his  depleted  store. 

"Here  it  begins,"  said  Tarn,  and  started: 

"At  ten  o'clock  in  the  forenoon  o'  a  clear  but  win- 
try day,  a  solitary  airman  micht  liae  been  seen  wingin' 
his  lane  way  ameedst  the  solitude  o'  the  achin'  skies." 

"  'Achin'  skies'?"  queried  the  stenogra- 
pher dubiously. 

"It's  poetry,"  said  Tarn.  "A'  got  it  oot 
o'  a  bit  by  Roodyard  Kiplin',  the  Burns  o' 
England,  an'  don't  interrupt. 

"He  seemed  ower  young  for  sich  an  adventure — " 

"How  old  are  you,  Sergeant,  if  I  may  ask 
the  question?"  demanded  the  amanuensis. 

"Ye  may  not  ask,  but  A'll  tell  you — A'm 
seventy-four  come  Michaelmas,  an'  A've 
never  looked  into  the  bricht  ees  o'  a  lassie 
since  A'  lost  me  wee  Jean,  who  flit  wi'  a  col- 
onel o'  dragoons,  in  the  year  the  battle  of 
Balaklava  was  fought— will  ye  shut  yeer 
face  whilst  A'm  dictatin'?" 
151 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

"Sorry,"  murmured  the  corporal  and 
poised  his  pencil. 

"Suddenly,  as  the  wee  hero  was  guidin'  his  'bus 
through  the  maze  o'  cloods,  a  strange  sicht  met  his 
ees.  It  was  the  caircus  of  McBissing!  They  were 
evolutin'  by  numbers,  performin'  their  Great  Feat  of 
Balancin'  an'  Barebacked  Ridin',  Aerial  Trapeze  an' 
Tight-rope  Walkin',  Loopin'  the  Loop  by  the  death- 
defyin'  Brothers  Fritz,  together  with  many  laughable 
an'  amusin'  interludes  by  Whimsical  Walker,  the 
Laird  o'  Laughter,  the  whole  concludin'  with  a  Graund 
Patriotic  Procession  entitled  Deutschland  ower  All — 
or  Nearly  All." 

"I  ain't  seen  a  circus  for  years,"  said  the 
corporal  with  a  sigh.  "Lord !  I  used  to  love 
them  girls  in  short  skirts — " 

"Restrain  yeer  amorous  thochts,  Alec," 
warned  Tarn,  "an'  fix  yeer  mind  on  leetera- 
ture.     To  proceed: 

"  'Can  it  be,'  says  our  hero,  'can  it  be  that  Mr. 
McBissing  is  doin'  his  stunts  at  ten-thairty  o'  the 
clock  in  the  cauld  morn,  for  sheer  love  o'  his  seenister 
profession  ?  No,'  says  A' — says  our  young  hero — 'no,' 
says  he,  'he  has  a  distinguished  audience  as  like  as 
not.' 

152 


THE  MAN  BEHIND  THE  CIRCUS 

"Speerin'  ower  the  side  an'  fixin'  his  expensive 
glasses  on  the  groon,  he  espied  sax  motor-cars — " 

The  door  was  flung  open  and  Blackie 
came  in  hurriedly.  "Tarn — get  up,"  he  said 
briefly.  "All  the  damn  circuses  are  out  on  a 
strafe — and  we're  It — von  Bissing,  von 
RheinhofT,  and  von  Wentzl.  They're  com- 
ing straight  here  and  I  think  they're  out  for 
blood." 

The  history  of  that  great  aerial  combat 
has  been  graphically  told  by  the  special  cor- 
respondents. Von  Bissing's  formation — 
dead  out  of  luck  that  day — was  broken  up  by 
Archie  fire  and  forced  back,  von  Wentzl 
was  engaged  by  the  Fifty-ninth  Squadron 
(providentially  up  in  strength  for  a  strafe 
of  their  own)  and  turned  back,  but  the  von 
RheinhofT  group  reached  its  objective  be- 
fore the  machines  were  more  than  five  thou- 
sand feet  from  the  ground  and  there  was 
some  wild  bombing. 

Von  Rheinhoff  might  have  unloaded  his 
bombs  and  got  away,  but  he  showed  deplor- 
able judgment.  To  insure  an  absolutely 
153 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

successful  outcome  to  the  attack  he  ordered 
his  machines  to  descend.  Before  he  could 
recover  altitude  the  swift  little  scouts  were 
up  and  into  the  formation.  The  air  crack- 
led with  the  sound  of  Lewis-gun  fire,  ma- 
chines reeled  and  staggered  like  drunken 
men,  Tarn's  fighting  Morane  dipped  and 
dived,  climbed  and  swerved  in  a  wild  bac- 
chanalian dance.  Airplanes,  British  and 
German  alike,  fell  flaming  to  the  earth  be- 
fore the  second  in  command  of  the  enemy 
squadron  signaled,  "Retire." 

A  mile  away  a  battery  of  A-A  guns 
waited,  its  commander's  eyes  glued  to  a 
telescope. 

"They're  breaking  off — stand  by !  Range 
4300  yards — deflection — There  they  go! 
Commence  firing." 

A  dozen  batteries  were  waiting  the  signal. 
The  air  was  filled  with  the  shriek  of  speed- 
ing shells,  the  skies  were  mottled  with 
patches  of  smoke,  white  and  brown,  where 
the  charges  burst. 

154 


THE  MAN  BEHIND  THE  CIRCUS 

Von  RheinhofFs  battered  squadron  rode 
raggedly  to  safety. 

"Got  him — whoop!"  yelled  a  thousand 
voices,  as  from  one  machine  there  came  a 
scatter  of  pieces  as  a  high-explosive  shell 
burst  under  the  wing,  and  the  soaring  bird 
collapsed  and  came  trembling,  slowly,  head- 
over-heels  to  the  ground. 

Von  Rheinhoff,  that  redoubtable  man, 
was  half  conscious  when  they  pulled  him 
out  of  the  burnt  and  bloody  wreck. 

He  looked  round  sleepily  at  the  group 
about  him  and  asked  in  the  voice  of  a  very 
tired  man: 

"Which — of — you — fellows — bombed — 
our  Kaiser?" 

Tarn  leant  forward,  his  face  blazing  with 
excitement. 

"Say  that  again,  sir-r,"  he  said. 

Von  Rheinhoff  looked  at  him  through 
half -opened  eyes.  "Tarn — eh?"  he  whis- 
pered.    "You — nearly  put  an   empire — in 

mourning." 

155 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

Tarn  drew  a  long  breath,  then  turned 
away.  "Nearly!"  he  said  bitterly.  "Did 
A'  no'  tell  ye,  Captain  Blackie,  sir-r,  that 
ma  luck  was  oot?" 


156 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  QUESTION  OF  RANK 

TAM  stood  in  the  doorway  of  Squadron 
Headquarters  and  saluted. 

"Come  in,  Sergeant  Mactavish,"  said 
Blackie,  and  Tarn's  heart  went  down  into 
his  boots. 

To  be  called  by  his  surname  was  a  hap- 
pening which  had  only  one  significance. 
There  was  trouble  of  sorts,  and  Tarn  hated 
trouble. 

"There  are  some  facts  which  General 
Headquarters  have  asked  me  to  verify — 
your  age  is  twenty-seven?" 

"Yes,  sir-r." 

"You  hold  the  military  medal,  the  French 
Medaille  Milltaire,  the  Russian  medal  of 
St.  George  and  the  French  Croix  de 
Guerre?" 

157 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

"Oh,  aye,  Captain  Blackie,  sir-r,  but  A've 
no'  worn  'em  yet." 

"You  were  created  King's  Corporal  for 
an  act  of  valor  on  January  17,  19 15?" 
Blackie  went  on,  consulting  a  paper. 

"Yes,  sir-r." 

Blackie  nodded.  "That's  all,  Sergeant," 
he  said,  and  as  Tarn  saluted  and  turned,  "oh, 
by-the-way,  Sergeant — we  had  a  brass  ha — 
I  mean  a  staff  officer  here  the  other  day  and 
he  reported  rather  unfavorably  upon  a  prac- 
tise of  yours — er — ours.  It  was  a  question 
of  discipline — you  know  it  is  not  usual  for 
a  non-commissioned  officer  to  be  on  such 
friendly  terms  with — er — officers.  And  I 
think  he  saw  you  in  the  anteroom  of  the 
mess.  So  I  told  him  something  which  was 
not  at  the  time  exactly  true." 

Tarn  nodded  gravely. 

For  the  first  time  since  he  had  been  a  sol- 
dier he  had  a  horrid  feeling  of  chagrin,  of 
disappointment,  of  something  that  rebuffed 
and  hurt. 

"A'  see,  sir-r,"  he  said,  "  'tis  no'  ma  wish 
158 


A  QUESTION  OF  RANK 

to  put  mesel'  forward,  an'  if  A've  been  a 
wee  bit  free  wi'  the  young  laddies  there  was 
no  disrespect  in  it.  A'  know  ma  place  an' 
A'm  no'  ashamed  o'  it.  There's  a  shipyard 
on  the  Clyde  that's  got  ma  name  on  its  books 
as  a  fitter — that's  ma  job  an'  A'm  proud  o' 
it.  If  ye're  thinkin',  Captain  Blackie,  sir-r, 
that  ma  heid  got  big — " 

"No,  no,  Tarn,"  said  Blackie  hastily,  "I'm 
just  telling  you — so  that  you'll  understand 
things  when  they  happen." 

Tarn  saluted  and  walked  away. 

He  passed  Brandspeth  and  Walker-Gid- 
dons  and  responded  to  their  flippant  greet- 
ings with  as  stiff  a  salute  as  he  was  capable 
of  offering.  They  stared  after  him  in 
amazement. 

"What's  the  matter  with  Tarn?"  they  de- 
manded simultaneously,  one  of  the  other. 

Tarn  reached  his  room,  closed  and  locked 
the  door  and  sat  down  to  unravel  a  confused 
situation. 

He  had  grown  up  with  the  squadron  and 
had  insensibly  drifted  into  a  relationship 
159 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

which  had  no  counterpart  in  any  other 
branch  of  the  service.  He  was  "Tarn," 
unique  and  indefinable.  He  had  few  inti- 
mates of  his  own  rank,  and  little  association 
with  his  juniors.  The  mechanics  treated 
him  as  being  in  a  class  apart  and  respected 
him  since  the  day  when,  to  the  prejudice  of 
good  order  and  military  discipline,  he  had 
followed  a  homesick  boy  who  had  deserted, 
found  him  and  hammered  him  until  nostal- 
gia would  have  been  a  welcome  relief.  All 
deserters  are  shot,  and  the  youth  having  at 
first  decided  that  death  was  preferable  to  a 
repetition  of  the  thrashing  he  had  received, 
changed  his  mind  and  was  tearfully  grate- 
ful. 

Sitting  on  his  bed,  his  head  between  his 
hands,  pondering  this  remarkable  change 
which  had  come  to  the  attitude  of  his  officers 
and  friends,  Tarn  was  sensible  (to  his  aston- 
ishment) of  the  extraordinary  development 
his  mentality  had  undergone.  He  had 
come  to  the  army  resentfully,  a  rabid  social- 
ist with  a  keen  contempt  for  "the  upper 
160 


A  QUESTION  OF  RANK 

classes"  which  he  had  never  concealed. 
The  upper  classes  were  people  who  wore 
high  white  collars,  turned  up  the  ends  of 
their  trousers  and  affected  a  monocle. 
They  spoke  a  kind  of  drawling  English  and 
said,  "By  gad,  dear  old  top — what  perfectly 
beastly  weathah!" 

They  did  no  work  and  lived  on  the  sweat 
of  labor.  They  patronized  the  workman 
or  ignored  his  existence,  and  only  came  to 
Scotland  to  shoot  and  fish — whereon  they 
assumed  (with  gillies  and  keepers  of  all 
kinds)  the  national  dress  which  Scotsmen 
never  wear. 

That  was  the  old  conception,  and  Tarn 
almost  gasped  as  he  realized  how  far  he  had 
traveled  from  his  ancient  faith.  For  all 
these  boys  he  knew  were  of  that  class — most 
of  them  had  an  exaggerated  accent  and  said, 
^By  gad!" — but  somehow  he  understood 
them  and  could  see,  beneath  the  externals, 
the  fine  and  lovable  qualities  that  were 
theirs.  He  had  been  taken  into  this  strange 
and  pleasant  community  and  had  felt — he 
161 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

did  not  exactly  know  what  he  had  felt.  All 
he  did  know  was  that  a  brass-hatted  angel 
with  red  tabs  on  its  collar  stood  at  the  gate 
of  a  little  paradise  of  comradeship,  and  for- 
bade further  knowledge  of  its  pleasant 
places. 

He  pursed  his  lips  and  got  to  his  feet, 
sick  with  a  sense  of  his  loss.  He  was  of  the 
people,  apart.  He  was  a  Clydeside  worker 
and  they  were  the  quality.  He  told  him- 
self this  and  knew  that  he  lied — he  and  they 
stood  on  grounds  of  equality;  they  were  men 
doing  men's  work  and  risking  their  lives  one 
for  the  other. 

Tarn  whistled  a  dreary  little  tune,  took 
down  his  cap  and  walked  over  to  the  work- 
shops. There  was  a  motorcycle  which 
Brandspeth  told  him  he  could  use,  and  after 
a  moment's  hesitation,  Tarn  wheeled  the  ma- 
chine to  the  yard.  Then  he  remembered 
that  he  was  in  his  working  tunic,  and  since 
it  was  his  intention  to  utilize  this  day's  leave 
in  visiting  a  town  at  the  rear  of  the  lines,  he 
162 


A  QUESTION  OF  RANK 

decided  to  return  to  his  bunk  and  change 
into  his  "best." 

He  opened  his  box — but  his  best  tunic  was 
missing. 

"Weel,  weel!"  said  Tarn,  puzzled,  and 
summoned  his  batman  with  a  shrill  whistle. 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  Sergeant,"  said  the 
man,  "Mr.  Walker-Giddons  and  the  other 
young  officers  came  over  for  it  three  days 
ago.  They  got  me  to  give  it  to  'em  and 
made  me  promise  I  wouldn't  say  anything 
about  it." 

Tarn  smiled  quietly. 

"All  right,  Angus,"  he  nodded  and  went 
back  to  his  cycle.  He  did  not  know  the 
joke,  but  it  was  one  which  would  probably 
come  to  an  untimely  end,  in  view  of  the  dis- 
ciplinary measures  which  headquarters  were 
taking.  This  incident  meant  another  little 
pang,  but  the  freshness  of  the  morning  and 
the  exhilaration  of  the  ride — for  motor- 
cycling has  thrills  which  aviation  does  not 
know — helped  banish  all  thoughts  of  an 
unpleasant  morning. 

163 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

He  reached  his  destination,  made  a  few 
purchases,  drank  an  agreeable  cup  of  coffee 
and  discovered  that  he  had  exhausted  all  the 
joys  which  the  town  held.  He  had  in- 
tended amusing  himself  through  the  day  and 
returning  at  night,  but,  even  before  the  res- 
taurants began  to  fill  for  lunch  he  was  bored 
and  irritable,  and  strapping  his  purchases 
to  the  back  of  the  cycle  he  mounted  the  ma- 
chine and  began  his  homeward  journey. 

It  was  in  the  little  village  St.  Anton  (in 
reality  a  suburb  of  the  town)  that  he  met 
Adventure — Adventure  so  novel,  so  bewil- 
dering, that  he  felt  that  he  had  been  singled 
out  by  fate  for  such  an  experience  as  had 
never  before  fallen  to  mortal  man. 

He  met  a  girl.  He  met  her  violently,  for 
she  was  speeding  along  a  road  behind  the 
wheel  of  a  small  motor  ambulance  and  it 
happened  that  the  road  in  question  ran  at 
right  angles  to  that  which  Tarn  was  follow- 
ing. 

Both  saw  the  danger  a  few  seconds  before 
the  collision  occurred;  both  applied  fierce 
164 


He  met  a  girl — he  met  her  violently 


A  QUESTION  OF  RANK 

brakes,  but,  nevertheless,  Tarn  found  him- 
self on  his  hands  and  knees  at  the  feet  of  the 
lady-driver,  having  taken  a  purler  almost 
into  her  lap,  despite  the  printed  warning 
attached  to  this  portion  of  the  ambulance: 

Driver  and  Orderlies  Only 

"Oh,  I  do  hope  you  aren't  hurt,"  said  the 
girl  anxiously. 

Tarn  picked  himself  up,  dusted  his  hands 
and  his  knees  and  surveyed  her  severely. 

She  was  rather  small  of  stature  and  very 
pretty.  A  shrapnel  helmet  was  set  at  a  rak- 
ish angle  over  her  golden-brown  hair,  and 
she  wore  the  uniform  of  a  Red  Cross  driver. 

"It  was  my  fault,"  she  went  on.  "This  is 
only  a  secondary  road  and  yours  is  the  main 
— I  should  have  slowed  but  I  guess  I  was 
thinking  of  things.     I  often  do  that." 

She  was  obviously  American  and  Tarn's 
slow  smile  was  free  of  malice. 

"It's  fine  to  think  of  things,"  he  said,  "es- 
pecially when  y're  drivin'  an  ambulance — 
but  it's  a  hairse  ye  ought  to  be  drivin',  Mis- 
165 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

tress,  if  ye  want  to  gie  yeer  thochts  a  good 
airinV  " 

"I'm  really  sorry,"  said  the  girl  peni- 
tently.    "I'm  afraid  your  cycle  is  smashed." 

"Don't  let  it  worry  ye,"  said  Tarn  calmly. 
"It's  no'  ma  bike  anyway;  it  belangs  to  one 
of  the  hateful  governin'  classes,  an'  A've 
nothin'  to  do  but  mak'  guid  the  damage." 

"Oh,"  said  the  girl  blankly,  then  she  sud- 
denly went  red. 

"Of  course,"  she  began  awkwardly,  "as  I 
was  responsible — I  can  well  afford — " 

She  halted  lamely  and  Tarn's  eyes  twink- 
led. "Maybe  ye're  the  niece  of  Andrew 
Carnegie  an'  ye've  had  yeer  monthly  library 
allowance,"  he  said  gravely,  "an'  maybe  ye 
could  spare  a  few  thousand  dollars  or  cents 
— A've  no'  got  the  exact  coinage  in  ma  mind 
— to  help  a  wee  feller  buy  a  new  whizzer- 
wheel.  A'  take  it  kindly,  but  guid  money 
makes  bad  frien's." 

"I  didn't  intend  offering  you  money,"  she 
said  hurriedly,  flushing  deeper  than  ever, 
166 


A  QUESTION  OF  RANK 

"let  me  pull  the  car  up  to  the  side  of  the 
road." 

Tarn  examined  his  own  battered  machine 
in  the  meantime.  The  front  wheel  had 
buckled,  but  this  was  easily  remedied,  and 
by  the  time  the  girl  had  brought  her  car  to 
rest  in  a  field  he  had  repaired  all  the  import- 
ant damage. 

"I  was  going  to  stop  somewhere  about 
here  for  lunch,"  she  said,  producing  a  basket 
from  under  the  seat;  "in  fact,  I  was  thinking 
of  lunch  when — when — " 

"A'  nose-dived  on  to  ye,"  said  Tarn,  pre- 
paring to  depart.  "Weel,  A'll  be  gettin' 
along.     There's  nothing  A'  can  do  for  ye?" 

"You  can  stay  and  lunch  with  me." 

"A've  haid  ma  dinner,"  said  Tarn  hastily. 

"What  did  you  have?"  she  demanded. 

"Roast  beef  an'  rice  pudding,"  said  Tarn 
glibly. 

"I  don't  believe  you — anyway  I  guess  it 
won't  hurt  you  to  watch  me  eat." 

Tarn  noticed  that  she  took  it  for  granted 
167 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

that  he  was  lying,  for  she  served  him  with  a 
portion  of  her  simple  meal,  and  he  accepted 
the  situation  without  protest. 

"I'm  an  American,  you  know,"  she  said  as 
they  sat  cross-legged  on  the  grass.  "I  come 
from  Jackson,  Connecticut — you've  heard  of 
Jackson?" 

"Oh,  aye,"  he  replied.  "A'm  frae  Glas- 
cae." 

"That's  Scotland— I  like  the  Scotch." 

Tarn  blushed  and  choked. 

"I  came  over  last  year  to  drive  an  am- 
bulance in  the  American  Ambulance  Sec- 
tion, but  they  wouldn't  have  me,  so  I  just 
went  into  the  English  Red  Cross." 

"British,"  corrected  Tarn. 

"I  shall  say  English  if  I  like,"  she  defied 
him. 

"Weel,"  said  Tarn,  "it's  no'  for  me  to 
check  ye  if  ye  won't  be  edicated." 

She  stared  at  him,  then  burst  into  a  ring- 
ing laugh.  "My!  the  Scotch  people  are 
funny — tell  me  about  Scotland.  Is  it  a 
wonderful  country?  Do  you  know  about 
168 


A  QUESTION  OF  RANK 

Bruce  and  Wallace  and  Rob  Roy  and  all 
those  people?" 

"Oh,  aye,"  said  Tarn  cautiously,  "by  what 
A'  read  in  the  paper  it's  a  gay  fine  country." 

"And  the  red  deer  and  glens  and  things — 
it  must  be  lovely." 

"A've  seen  graund  pictures  of  a  glen," 
admitted  Tarn,  "but  the  red  deer  in  Glascae 
air  no'  sae  plentiful  as  they  used  to  be — 
A'm  thinkin'  the  ship-yard  bummer  hae 
scairt  'em  away." 

She  shot  a  sharp  glance  at  him,  then,  it 
seemed  for  the  first  time,  noticed  his  stripes. 

"Oh,  you're  a  sergeant,"  she  said.  "I 
thought — I  thought  by  your  'wings'  you 
were  an  officer.  I  didn't  know  that  ser- 
geants— " 

Tarn  smiled  at  her  confusion  and  when  he 
smiled  there  was  an  infinite  sweetness  in  the 
action. 

"Ye're  right,  Mistress.     A'm  a  sairgeant, 

an'  A'  thocht  a'  the  time  ye  were  mistakin' 

me  for  an  officer,  an'  A'd  no'  the  heart  to 

stop  ye,  for  it's  a  verra  lang  time  since  A' 

169 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

spoke  wi'  a  lady,  an'  it  was  verra,  verra  fine." 

He  rose  slowly  and  walked  to  his  cycle — 
she  ran  after  him  and  laid  her  hand  on  his 
arm. 

"I've  been  a  low  snob,"  she  said  frankly. 
"I  beg  your  pardon — and  you're  not  to  go, 
because  I  wanted  to  ask  you  about  a  sergeant 
of  your  corps — you  know  the  man  that 
everybody  is  talking  about.  He  bombed  the 
Kaiser's  staff  the  other  day.  You've  heard 
about  it,  haven't  you?" 

Tarn  kept  his  eyes  on  the  distant  horizon. 

"Oh,  he's  no  sae  much  o'  a  fellow — a  wee 
chap  wi'  an'  awfu'  conceit  o'  himsel'." 

"Nonsense!"  she  scoffed,  "why,  Captain 
Blackie  told  me — " 

Suddenly,  she  stepped  back  and  gazed  at 
him  wide-eyed.     "Why!     You're  Tarn!" 

Tarn  went  red. 

"Of  course  you're  Tarn — you  never  wear 
your  medal  ribbons,  do  you?  You're 
called—" 

"Mistress,"  said  Tarn  as  he  saluted  awk- 
wardly and  started  to  push  his  machine, 
170 


A  QUESTION  OF  RANK 

"they  ca'  me  'sairgeant,'  an'  it's  no'  such  a 
bad  rank." 

He  left  her  standing  with  heightened 
color  blaming  herself  bitterly  for  her  gauch- 
erie. 

So  it  made  that  difference,  too! 

For  some  reason  he  did  not  feel  hurt  or 
unhappy.  He  was  in  his  most  philosoph- 
ical mood  when  he  reached  his  aerodrome. 
He  had  a  cause  for  gratification  in  that  she 
knew  his  name.  Evidently,  it  was  some- 
thing to  be  a  sergeant  if  by  so  being  you 
stand  out  from  the  ruck  of  men.  As  to  her 
name  he  had  neither  thought  it  opportune 
nor  proper  to  advance  inquiries. 

He  smiled  as  he  changed  into  his  working 
clothes  and  wondered  why. 

A  dozen  girl  drivers  were  waiting  on  the 
broad  road  before  the  131st  General  Hos- 
pital the  next  morning,  exchanging  views  on 
the  big  things  which  were  happening  in 
their  little  world,  when  one  spied  an  air- 
plane. 

171 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

"Gracious — isn't  it  high!  I  wonder  if 
it's  a  German — they're  bombing  hospitals — 
it's  British,  silly — no,  it's  a  German,  I  saw 
one  just  like  that  over  Poperinghe — it's 
coming  right  over." 

"Stand  by  your  cars,  ladies,  please." 

The  tall  "chief's"  sharp  voice  scattered 
the  groups. 

"He's  dropping  something — it's  a  bomb — 
no,  it's  a  message  bag.  Look  at  the  stream- 
ers!" 

A  bag  it  was  and  when  they  raced  to  the 
field  in  which  it  fell  they  discovered  that  it 
was  improvised,  roughly  sewn  and  weighted 
with  sand. 

The  superintendent  read  the  label  and 
frowned. 

"  'To  the  Driver  of  Ambulance  B.  T. 
9743,  131st  General  Hospital' — this  is  evi- 
dently for  you,  Miss  Laramore." 

"Forme,  Mrs.  Crane?" 

Vera  Laramore  came  forward,  a  picture 
of  astonishment  and  took  the  bag. 
172 


A  QUESTION  OF  RANK 

"Oh,  what  fun — who  is  it,  Vera?  Open 
it  quickly." 

The  girl  pulled  open  the  bag  and  took 
out  a  letter.  It  bore  the  same  address  as 
that  which  had  been  written  on  the  label. 

Slowly  she  tore  off  the  end  of  the  envelope. 

There  was  a  single  sheet  of  paper  written 
in  a  boyish  hand.  Without  any  prelim- 
inary it  ran : 

"A  sairgeant-pilot,  feelin'  sair, 

A  spitefu'  thing  may  do, 
An'  so  I  come  to  you  once  mair 

That  I  may  say — an'  true — 
As  you  looked  doon  on  me  ane  day, 

Now  I  look  doon  on  you! 

"You,  fra  your  height  of  pride  an'  clan 
Heard  your  high  spirit  ca', 
An'  so  you  scorned  the  common  man — 

I  saw  yeer  sweet  face  fa' ; 
But,  losh!  I'm  just  that  mighty  high 
I  can't  see  you  at  a'!" 

It  was  signed  "T"   and   the   girl's  eyes 
danced  with  joy.     She  shaded  her  eyes  and 
looked  up.     The  tiny  airplane  was  turning 
173 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

and  she  waved  her  handkerchief  frantically. 

"A  friend  of  yours?"  asked  the  superin- 
tendent with  ominous  politeness. 

"Ye-es — it's  Tarn,  Mrs.  Crane — I  ran  into 
him — he  ran  into  me  yesterday — " 

"Tarn?"  even  the  severe  superintendent 
was  interested,  "that  remarkable  man — I 
should  like  to  see  him.  Everybody  is  talk- 
ing about  him  just  now.  Was  it  a  private 
letter  or  an  official  message  from  the  aero- 
drome?" 

"It  was  private,"  said  the  girl,  very  pink 
and  a  note  of  defiance  in  her  voice,  and  the 
superintendent  very  wisely  dropped  the  sub- 
ject. 

"I  really  don't  know  how  to  send  him  an 
appropriate  answer,"  said  Vera  to  her  con- 
fidante and  room-mate  that  evening.  "I 
can't  write  poetry  and  I  can't  fly." 

"I  shouldn't  answer  it,"  said  her  sensible 
friend  briskly.  "After  all,  my  dear,  you 
don't  want  to  start  a  flirtation  with  a  ser- 
geant— I  mean,  it's  hardly  the  thing,  is 
it?" 

174 


A  QUESTION  OF  RANK 

The  little  pajama'd  figure  sitting  on  the 
edge  of  the  bed  favored  her  friend  with  a 
cold  stare. 

"I  certainly  am  not  thinking  of  a  flirta- 
tion," she  said  icily,  "but  if  I  were,  I  should 
as  certainly  be  unaffected  by  the  rank  of  my 
victim.  In  America  we  aren't  quite  so 
strong  for  pedigrees  and  families  as  you 
English  people — " 

"Irish,"  said  the  other  gently. 

Vera  laughed  as  she  curled  up  in  the  bed 
and  drew  her  sheet  up  to  her  chin. 

"It's  queer  how  people  hate  being  called 
English — even  Tarn — " 

"Look  here,  Vera,"  said  her  companion 
hotly,  "just  leave  that  young  man  alone. 
And  please  get  all  those  silly,  romantic  ideas 
out  of  your  head." 

A  silence — then, 

"I'm  going  to  write  to  him,  to-morrow," 
said  a  sleepy  voice,  and  the  rapid  fire  of  her 
friend's  protest  was  answered  with  a  well- 
simulated  snore. 

Tarn  received  the  letter  by  messenger. 
175 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

"Dear  Mr.  Tarn  (it  ran): 

"I  know  that  is  your  Christian  name,  but  I  really 
do  not  know  your  other,  so  will  you  please  excuse  me? 
I  am  going  into  Amiens  next  Friday  and  if  you  have 
quite  forgiven  me,  will  you  please  meet  me  for  lunch 
at  the  Cafe  St.  Pierre?  And  thank  you  so  much  for 
your  very  clever  verse." 

"  'Vera  Laramore,' "  repeated  Tarn. 
"A've  no  doot  she's  Scottish." 

He  trod  air  that  week,  literally  and  fig- 
uratively, for  the  work  was  heavy.  The 
high  winds  which  had  kept  the  British 
squadrons  to  the  ground,  petered  out  to  gen- 
tle breezes,  and  the  air  was  alive  with  craft. 
Bombing  raid,  photographic  reconnaissance 
and  long-distance  scouting  kept  the  airmen 
busy.  New  squadrons  appeared  which  had 
never  been  seen  before  on  this  front.  The 
Franco-American  unit  came  up  from  X, 
and  did  some  very  audible  fraternizing  with 
what  was  locally  known  as  "Blackie's  lot," 
a  circumstance  which  ordinarily  would  have 
caused  Tarn's  heart  to  rejoice. 

But  Tarn  was  keeping  clear  of  the  mess- 
room  just  now,  and  he  either  sent  an  orderly 
176 


A  QUESTION  OF  RANK 

with  his  messages  or  waited  religiously  on 
the  mat.  As  for  the  officers,  he  avoided 
them  unless  (as  was  often  the  case)  they 
sought  him  out. 

Brandspeth  brought  one  of  the  new  men 
over  to  his  bunk  the  night  the  American  con- 
tingent arrived. 

"I  want  you  to  meet  an  American  officer, 
Tarn,"  he  yelled.  "Don't  be  an  ass — open 
the  door." 

He  was  on  one  side  of  the  locked  door 
and  Tarn  was  on  the  other. 

Tarn  turned  the  key  reluctantly  and  ad- 
mitted the  visitors. 

"A'm  no'  wishin'  to  be  unceevil,  Mr. 
Brandspeth,  but  Captain  Blackie  will  strafe 
ye  if  he  finds  ye  here." 

"Rubbish!  I  want  you  to  meet  Mr.  Lar- 
amore." 

Tarn  looked  at  the  keen-faced  young  ath- 
lete and  slowly  extended  his  hand. 

"I  think  you  know  my  sister,"  said  the 
smiling  youth,  "and  certainly  we  all  know 
you." 

177 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

He  gave  the  pilot  a  grip  which  would 
have  crushed  a  hand  of  ordinary  muscular- 
ity. 

"A've  run  up  against  the  young  lady  in 
ma  travels,"  said  Tarn  solemnly. 

Laramore  laughed.  "I  saw  her  for  a 
moment  to-day  and  she  asked  me  to  remind 
you  of  your  appointment." 

"An  appointment — with  a  lady?  Oh, 
Tarn!"  said  the  shocked  Brandspeth,  pro- 
ducing from  his  overcoat  pocket  a  siphon 
of  soda,  a  large  flask  of  amber-brown  liquid 
and  a  bundle  of  cigars,  and  setting  them 
upon  the  table.  "Really,  Tarn  is  always 
making  the  strangest  acquaintances." 

"He  never  met  anybody  stranger  than 
Vera — or  better,"  said  Laramore,  with  a  lit- 
tle laugh.  "Vera,  I  suppose,  is  worth  a  mil- 
lion dollars.  She  is  a  citizen  of  a  neutral 
country.  She  can  have  the  bulliest  time 
any  girl  could  desire,  and  yet  she  elects  to 
come  to  France,  drive  a  car  over  abominable 
roads  which  are  more  often  than  not  under 
178 


A  QUESTION  OF  RANK 

shell-fire,  and  sleep  in  a  leaky  old  shack  for 
forty  cents  a  day." 

Brandspeth  was  filling  the  glasses. 

"You're  a  neutral,  too — say  when — I  sup- 
pose you're  not  exactly  a  pauper  and  yet  you 
risk  breaking  your  neck  for  ten  francs  per. 
Help  yourself  to  a  cigar,  Tarn — I  said  a 
cigar." 

"Try  one  o'  mine,  sir-r,"  said  Tarn  coolly, 
and  produced  a  box  of  Perfectos  from  under 
his  bed ;  "ye  may  take  one  apiece  and  it's  fair 
to  tell  ye  A've  coonted  them." 

They  spent  a  moderate  but  joyous  even- 
ing, but  Tarn,  standing  in  the  doorway  of 
his  "bunk,"  watched  the  figures  of  his  guests 
receding  into  the  darkness  with  a  sense  of 
depression.  He  had  no  social  ambitions, 
he  had  no  desire  to  be  anything  other  than 
the  man  he  was.  If  he  looked  forward  to 
his  return  to  civil  life  at  the  war's  end,  he 
did  so  with  equanimity,  though  that  return 
meant  a  life  in  soiled  overalls  amid  the  hum 
and  clang  of  a  factory  shop. 
179 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

He  had  none  of  that  divine  discontent 
which  is  half  the  equipment  of  Scottish 
youth.  Rather  did  he  possess  ambition's 
surest  antidote  in  a  mild  and  kindly  cyni- 
cism which  stripped  endeavor  of  its  illu- 
sions. 

It  was  on  the  Wednesday  night  after  he 
had  written  a  polite  little  note  to  the  One 
Hundred  and  Thirty-first  General  Hospital 
accepting  the  invitation  to  lunch  and  had  re- 
ceived one  of  Blackie's  tentative  permits 
to  take  a  day's  leave  (Tarn  called  them  "D. 
V.  Passes")  that  the  blow  fell. 

"Angus,"  said  Tarn  to  his  batman,  "while 
A'm  bravin'  the  terrors  of  the  foorth  dimen- 
sion in  the  morn — " 

"Is  that  the  new  scoutin'  machine,  Ser- 
geant?" demanded  the  interested  batman. 

"The  foorth  dimension,  ma  puir  frien',  is 
a  tairm  applied  by  philosophers  of  the 
Royal  Flyin'  Coop  to  the  space  between 
France  an'  heaven." 

"Oh,  you  mean  the  hair!"  said  the  disap- 
pointed servant. 

180 


A  QUESTION  OF  RANK 

"A'  mean  the  hair,"  replied  Tarn  gravely, 
"not  the  hair  that  stands  up  when  yeer  petrol 
tank  goes  dry  nor  the  hare  yeer  poachin'  an- 
cestors stole  from  the  laird  o'  the  manor, 
but  the  hair  ye  breathe  when  ye're  no' 
smokin'.  An'  while  A'm  away  in  the  morn 
A'  want  ye  to  go  to  Mr.  Brandspeth's  servant 
an'  get  ma  new  tunic.  A'm  going  to  a 
pairty  at  Amiens  on  Friday,  an'  A'm  no' 
anxious  to  be  walkin'  doon  the  palm  court  of 
the  Cafe  St.  Pierre  in  ma  auld  tunic." 

"Anyway,"  said  the  batman,  busily  brush- 
ing that  same  "auld"  tunic,  "you  wouldn't 
be  walkin'  into  the  Cafe  St.  Pierre." 

"And  why  not?" 

"Because,"  said  the  batman  triumphantly, 
"that's  one  of  the  cafes  reserved  for  officers 
only." 

There  was  a  silence,  then:  "Are  ye  sure 
o'  that,  Angus?" 

"Sure,  Sergeant — I  was  in  Amiens  for 
three  months." 

Tarn  said  nothing  and  presently  began 
whistling  softly. 

181 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

He  walked  to  his  book-shelf,  took  down  a 
thin,  paper-covered  volume  and  sank  back 
on  the  bed. 

"That  will  do,  Angus,"  he  said  presently; 
uca'  me  at  five." 

The  barriers  were  up  all  around — they 
had  been  erected  in  the  course  of  a  short 
week.  They  penned  him  to  his  class,  con- 
fined him  to  certain  narrow  roads  from 
whence  he  might  see  all  that  was  desirable 
but  forbidden. 

He  was  so  silent  the  next  morning,  when 
he  joined  the  big  squadron  that  was  assem- 
bling on  the  flying  field,  that  Blackie  did  not 
know  he  was  there. 

"Where's  Tarn?  Oh,  here  you  are. 
You  know  your  position  in  the  formation? 
Right  point  to  cover  the  right  of  the  Ameri- 
can bombing  squad.  Mr.  Sutton  before  you 
and  Mr.  Benson  behind.  You  will  get 
turning  signals  from  me.  Altitude  twelve 
thousand — that  will  be  two  thousand  feet 
above  the  bombers — no  need  to  tell  you  anv- 
il 82 


A  QUESTION  OF  RANK 

thing.     The    objective    is    Bapaume    and 
Achiet  junctions — " 

Tam  answered  shortly  and  climbed  into 
his  fuselage. 

The  squadron  went  up  in  twos,  the  fight- 
ing machines  first,  the  heavier  bombing  air- 
planes last.  For  twenty  minutes  they  ma- 
neuvered for  position,  and  presently  the 
leader's  machine  spluttered  little  balls  of 
colored  lights  and  the  squadron  moved  east- 
ward— a  great  diamond-shaped  flock,  fill- 
ing the  air  and  the  earth  with  a  tremulous 
roar  of  sound. 

They  reached  their  objectives  without  ef- 
fective opposition.  First,  the  junction  to 
the  north  of  Bapaume,  then  the  web  of  sid- 
ings at  Achiet  smoked  and  flamed  under  the 
heavy  bombardment.  Quick  splashes  of 
light  where  the  bombs  exploded,  great  col- 
umns of  gray  smoke  mushrooming  up  to  the 
sky,  then  feeble  licks  of  flame  growing  in 
intensity  of  brightness  where  the  incendiary 
bombs,  taking  hold  of  stores  and  hutments, 
advertised  the  success  of  the  raid. 
183 


TAM  O*  THE  SCOOTS 

The  squadron  swung  for  home. 

Tarn  with  one  eye  for  his  leader  and  one 
for  the  possible  dangers  on  his  flank,  was  a 
mere  automaton.  There  was  no  opportun- 
ity for  displaying  initiative — he  was  a  cog 
in  the  wheel. 

Suddenly  a  new  signal  glowed  from  the 
leading  machine  and  Tarn  threw  a  quick 
glance  left  and  right  and  began  to  climb. 
The  other  fighters  were  rising  steeply, 
though  not  at  such  an  angle  that  they  could 
not  see  their  leader,  who  was  a  little  higher 
than  they.  Another  signal  and  they  flat- 
tened, and  Tarn  saw  all  that  he  had  guessed. 

"Ma  guidness!"  said  Tarn,  "the  sky's  stiff 
wi'  'busses!" 

There  must  have  been  forty  enemy  ma- 
chines between  the  squadron  and  home.  So 
far  as  Tarn  could  see  there  were  eight  sep- 
arate formations  and  they  were  converging 
from  three  points  of  the  compass. 

The  safety  of  the  squadron  depended 
upon  the  individual  genius  of  the  fighters. 
Tarn  swerved  to  the  right  and  dipped  to  the 
184 


A  QUESTION  OF  RANK 

attack,  his  machine  guns  spraying  his  near- 
est opponent.  Sutton,  ahead  of  him,  was  al- 
ready engaged,  and  he  guessed  that  Benson, 
in  his  rear,  had  his  hands  full. 

Tarn's  nearest  opponent  went  down  side- 
ways, his  second  funked  the  encounter  and 
careered  wildly  away  to  his  left  and  imme- 
diately lost  position  to  attack,  for  when  two 
forces  are  approaching  one  another  at  eighty 
miles  an  hour,  failure  to  seize  the  psycholog- 
ical moment  for  striking  your  blow  leaves 
you  in  one  minute  exactly  three  miles  to 
the  rear  of  your  opponent.  The  first  shock 
was  over  in  exactly  thirty-five  seconds,  and 
beneath  the  spot  where  the  squadron  had 
passed  seven  machines  were  diving  or  cir- 
cling earthward,  the  majority  of  these  in 
flames. 

The  second  shock  came  three  minutes 
later  and  again  the  squadron  triumphed. 

Then  Tarn,  looking  down,  saw  one  of  the 
bombing  machines  turn  out  of  the  line,  and 
at  the  same  time  Blackie  signaled,  "Cover 
stragglers." 

185 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

The  squadron  was  now  well  behind  the 
British  lines,  but  they  were  south  of  the 
aerodrome,  having  changed  direction  to 
meet  the  attacks.  Tarn  with  a  little  leap  of 
heart  recognized  in  the  distance  a  familiar 
triangular  field  of  unsullied  snow,  searched 
for  and  found  the  rectangular  block  of  tiny 
huts  which  formed  No.  131  General  Hos- 
pital and  turned  out  of  the  line  with  a  wild 
sense  of  exhilaration. 

"She'll  no'  see  me  eat,"  he  said,  "but  she 
shall  see  a  graund  ficht." 

The  bomber  was  swerving  and  dipping 
like  a  helpless  wild  duck  seeking  to  shake 
off  the  three  hawks  that  were  now  hovering 
over  her. 

"Let  you  be  Laramore's  machine,  O 
Lord!"  prayed  Tarn,  and  he  prayed  with 
the  assurance  that  his  prayer  was  already 
answered. 

He  came  at  the  leading  German  and  for 

a  second  the  two  machines  streamed  nickel 

at  one  another.     Tarn  felt  the  wind  of  the 

bullets  and  knew  his  machine  was  struck. 

186 


A  QUESTION  OF  RANK 

Then  his  enemy  crumpled  and  fell.  He 
did  not  wait  to  investigate.  The  bomber 
was  firing  up  at  his  nearest  opponent  when 
Tarn  took  the  third  in  enfilade  and  saw  the 
pilot's  head  disappear  behind  the  protective 
armoring. 

He  swung  round  and  saw  the  bombing 
machine  diving  straight  for  the  earth  with 
the  German  scout  on  his  tail.  Tarn  fol- 
lowed in  a  dizzy  drop.  Three  thousand 
feet  from  earth  the  bombing  machine  turned 
a  complete  somersault  and  Tarn's  heart 
leaped  into  his  mouth. 

He  banked  over  to  follow  the  pursuing 
German  and  in  the  brief  space  of  time  which 
intervened  before  his  enemy  could  ad- 
just his  direction  to  cover  pilot  and  gunner, 
Tarn  had  both  in  line.  His  two  guns  trem- 
bled and  flamed  for  four  seconds  and  then 
the  German  dropped  straight  for  earth  and 
crashed  in  a  flurry  of  smoke  and  flying  de- 
bris. 

Tarn  looked  backward.  The  bomber 
had  pancaked  and  was  drifting  to  a  landing; 
187 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

the  squadron  was  out  of  sight.     Tarn  glided 
to  the  broad  field  before  the  hospital. 

"I  knew  it  was  you — I  knew  it  was  you!" 

He  looked  down  from  the  fuselage  at  the 
bright  upturned  face. 

"Oh,  aye,  it  was  me,"  he  admitted,  "an' 
A'm  michty  glad  ye  was  lookin',  for  A'  was 
throwin'  stunts  for  ye." 

He  was  on  the  ground  now,  loosening  the 
collar  of  his  leather  jacket.  He  stepped 
clear  of  the  obstructing  planes  of  his  ma- 
chine and  looked  anxiously  toward  the  gen- 
tle slopes  of  the  ridge  on  which  the  bomber 
had  landed. 

"Thank  the  guid  Lord,"  he  said  and 
sighed  his  relief. 

He  was  making  a  careful  inspection  of 
his  own  machine  preparatory  to  returning 
to  the  aerodrome  when  the  girl  came  run- 
ning across  the  field  to  say  good-by. 

"I  can't  tell  you  just  how  I  feel — how 
grateful  I  am.  My  brother  says  you  saved 
his  life.  He  was  in  that  other  machine, 
you  know." 

188 


A  QUESTION  OF  RANK 

"A'  knew  it,"  said  Tarn.  "  'Twas  a 
graund  adventure,  like  you  read  aboot  in 
books — 'twas  ma  low,  theatrical  mind  that 
wanted  it  so.     Good-by,  young  lady." 

"Till  to-morrow — don't  forget  you're 
lunching  with  me  at  the  Cafe  St.  Pierre." 

Tarn  smiled  gravely.  "A'm  afraid  ye'll 
have  to  postpone  that  lunch."  he  said, 
"till—" 

"Till  to-morrow,"  she  interrupted  flrmiy, 
and  Tarn  flew  back  to  the  aerodrome  with- 
out explaining. 

He  was  feeling  the  reaction  of  the  morn- 
ing's thrill,  and  when  he  landed  he  had  no 
answer  to  make  to  the  congratulations  which 
were  poured  upon  him. 

He  made  his  way  to  his  hut.  His  batman 
was  cleaning  a  pair  of  boots  and  stood  stiffly 
as  Tarn  entered. 

"That'll  do,  Angus,  ye  may  go,"  he  said, 
and  then  saw  the  folded  coat  upon  his  bed. 
"Ah,  ye  got  it  back,  did  ye — well,  A'll  no' 
be  needin'  it." 

He  picked  up  the  coat  and  frowned. 
189 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

"This  is  no'  mine,  Angus." 

"Your  tunic  is  in  the  box,  sir — this  is  the 
one  the  officers  had  made  for  you.  They 
wanted  your  other  tunic  for  the  measure- 
ments." 

Tarn  looked  at  the  man. 

"Yon's  an  officer's  tunic,  Angus,"  he  said; 
"an'  why  do  ye  say  'sir'  to  me?" 

Angus  beamed  and  saluted  with  a  flour- 
ish. 

"It's  in  General  Orders  this  morning,  sir 
— you've  got  a  commission,  an'  Mr.  Brands- 
peth  says  that  the  mess  will  be  expectin'  you 
to  lunch  at  one-thirty." 

Tarn  sat  down  on  the  bed,  biting  his  lip. 

"Get  oot,  Angus,"  he  said  huskily,  "an' — 
stay  you !  Ye'll  find  a  seegair  in  the  box  un- 
der the  bed — an',  Angus,  A'm  lunchin'  oot 
to-morrow." 


190 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  REPRISAL  RAID 

THERE  are  certain  animals  famous  to 
every  member  of  the  British  Expeditionary 
Force. 

There  is  a  Welsh  regiment's  goat  which 
ate  up  the  plan  of  attack  issued  by  a  briga- 
dier-general, who  bore  a  striking  resem- 
blance to  somebody  who  was  not  Napoleon, 
thus  saving  the  Welsh  regiment  from  anni- 
hilation and  reproach.  There  is  the  dog  of 
the  Middlesex  regiment,  who  always  bit 
staff-officers  and  was  fourteen  times  con- 
demned to  death  by  elderly  and  irascible 
colonels,  and  fourteen  times  rescued  by  his 
devoted  comrades.  There  is  the  Canadians' 
tame  chicken,  who  sat  waiting  for  nine-inch 
shells  to  fall,  and  then  scratched  over  the 
ground  they  had  disturbed ;  and  there  is  last, 
191 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

but  not  least,  that  famous  mascot  of  General 
Hospital  One-Three-One,  Hector  O'Brien. 

Hector  O'Brien  was  born  in  the  deeps  of  a 
Congo  forest.  Of  his  early  life  little  is 
known,  but  as  far  as  can  be  gathered,  he 
made  his  way  to  France  by  way  of  Egypt 
and  Gallipoli  and  was  presented  by  a  grate- 
ful patient  to  the  nursing  sisters  and  ambu- 
lance staff  of  One-Three-One,  and  by  them 
was  adopted  with  enthusiasm. 

Hector  O'Brien  did  precious  little  to  earn 
either  fame  or  notoriety  until  one  memor- 
able day.  He  used  to  sit  in  the  surgery,  be- 
fore a  large  packing-case,  wistfully  watch- 
ing the  skies  and  scratching  himself  in  an 
absent-minded  manner.  A  chimpanzee 
may  not  cogitate  very  profoundly,  and  the 
statement  that  he  is  a  deep  thinker  though 
an  indifferent  conversationalist  has  yet  to  be 
proved ;  but  it  is  certain  that  Hector  O'Brien 
was  a  student  of  medicine,  and  that  he  did, 
on  this  memorable  day  to  which  reference 
has  been  made,  perambulate  the  wards  of 
that  hospital  from  bed  to  bed,  feeling  pulses 
192 


A  REPRISAL  RAID 

and  shaking  his  head  in  a  sort  of  melancholy 
helplessness  which  brought  joy  to  the  heart 
of  eight  hundred  patients,  some  hundred 
doctors,  nurses  and  orderlies,  and  did  not  in 
any  way  disturb  the  melancholy  principal 
medical  officer,  who  was  wholly  unconscious 
of  Hector's  impertinent  imitations. 

Second-Lieutenant  Tarn,  who  was  a  fre- 
quent visitor  at  One-Three-One,  had  at  an 
early  stage  struck  up  a  friendship  with  Hec- 
tor and  had,  I  believe,  taken  him  on  patrol 
duty,  Hector  strapped  tightly  to  the  seat, 
holding  with  a  grip  of  iron  to  the  fuselage 
and  chattering  excitedly. 

Thereafter,  upon  the  little  uniform  jacket 
which  Hector  wore  on  state  occasions  was 
stitched  the  wings  of  a  trained  pilot.  It  is 
necessary  to  explain  Hector's  association 
with  the  R.  F.  C.  in  order  that  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  subsequent  adventure  may  be 
thoroughly  appreciated. 

Tarn  was  "up"  one  day  and  on  a  particu- 
lar mission.     He  looked  down  upon  a  big1 
and  irregular  checker-board  covered  with 
193 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

numbers  of  mad  white  lines,  which  radiated 
from  a  white  center  and  seemed  to  run  fran- 
tically in  all  directions  save  one.  Across 
that  course,  and  running  parallel  beneath 
three  of  them  was  a  straight  silver  thread. 
At  the  edge  of  his  vision  and  beyond  the 
place  where  the  white  lines  ended  abruptly, 
there  were  two  irregular  zigzags  of  yellow 
running  roughly  parallel.  Behind  each  of 
these  were  thousands  of  little  yellow 
splotches. 

Tarn  banked  over  and  came  round  on  a 
hairpin  turn,  with  his  eyes  searching  the 
heavens  above  and  below.  A  thousand  feet 
beneath  him  was  a  straggling  wisp  of  cloud, 
so  tenuous  that  you  sawthe  earth  through  its 
bulk.  Above  was  a  smaller  cloud,  not  so 
transparent,  but  too  thin  to  afford  a  lurking 
place  for  his  enemy. 

Tarn  was  waiting  for  that  famous  gentle- 
man, the  "Sausage-Killer,"  the  sworn  foe 
of  all  "O.  B.'s." 

He  paid  little  attention  to  the  flaming 
194 


A  REPRISAL  RAID 

lines  because  the  "Sausage-Killer"  never 
came  direct  from  his  aerodrome.  You 
would  see  him  streaking  across  the  sky,  ap- 
parently on  his  urgent  way  to  the  sea  bases 
and  oblivious  of  the  existence  of  Observa- 
tion Balloons. 

Then  he  would  turn,  as  though  he  had  for- 
gotten his  passport  and  railway  ticket  and 
must  go  home  quickly  to  get  them.  And  be- 
fore anybody  realized  what  was  happening, 
he  would  be  diving  straight  down  at  the 
straining  gas-bags,  his  tracer  bullets  would 
be  ranging  the  line,  and  from  every  car 
would  jump  tiny  black  figures.  You  saw 
them  falling  straight  as  plummets  till  their 
parachutes  took  the  air  and  opened.  And 
there  would  be  a  great  blazing  and  burning 
of  balloons,  frantic  work  at  the  winches 
which  pulled  them  to  earth,  and  the  bal- 
looning section  would  send  messages  to  the 
aerodrome  whose  duty  it  was  to  protect 
them,  apologizing  for  awakening  the  squad- 
ron from  its  beauty  sleep,  but  begging  to 
195 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

report  that  hostile  aircraft  had  arrived,  had 
performed  its  dirty  work  and  had  departed 
with  apparent  immunity. 

The  "Sausage-Killer"  was  due  at  11.20, 
and  at  11. 18  Tarn  saw  one  solitary  airplane 
sweep  wide  of  the  balloon  park,  and  turn  on 
a  course  which  would  bring  him  along  the 
line  of  the  O.  B.'s.  Apparently,  the  "Saus- 
age-Killer" was  not  so  blessed  in  the  matter 
of  sight  as  Tarn,  for  the  scout  was  on  his  tail 
and  was  pumping  nickel  through  his  trac- 
tor's screw  before  the  destroyer  of  innocent 
gas-bags  realized  what  had  happened. 

"It  was  a  noble  end,"  said  Tarn  after  he 
had  landed,  "and  A'm  no'  so  sure  that  he 
would  have  cared  to  be  coonted  oot  in  any 
other  saircumstances;  for  the  shepherd  likes 
to  die  amongst  his  sheep  and  the  captain  on 
his  bridge,  and  this  puir  feller  was  verra 
content,  A've  no  doot,  to  crash  under  the 
een  of  his  wee — " 

"Did  you  kill  him,  Tarn?"  asked  Blackie. 

"A'm  no'  so  sure  he's  deid  in  the  corporeal 
196 


A  REPRISAL  RAID 

sense,"  said  Tarn  cautiously,  "but  he  is  re- 
moved from  the  roll  of  effectives/' 

So  far  from  being  dead,  the  "Sausage- 
Killer,"  who,  appropriately  enough,  was 
ludicrously  like  a  young  butcher,  with  his 
red  fat  face  and  his  cold  blue  eye,  was  very 
much  alive  and  had  a  grievance. 

"Where  did  that  man  drop  from?"  he  de- 
manded truculently,  "I  didn't  see  him." 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Blackie;  "if  we  had 
known  that,  we  would  have  got  him  to  ring 
a  bell  or  wave  a  flag." 

"That  is  frivolous,"  said  the  German  offi- 
cer severely. 

"It  is  the  best  we  can  do,  dear  lad,"  said 
Blackie,  and  didn't  trouble  to  invite  him  to 
lunch. 

"Tarn,  you've  done  so  well,"  said  the 
squadron  leader  at  that  meal,  "that  I  can  see 
you  being  appointed  official  guardian  angel 
to  the  O.  B.'s.  They  are  going  to  bring  you 
some  flowers." 

"And  a  testimonial  with  a  purse  of  gold," 
197 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

suggested  Croucher,  the  youngest  of  the  fly- 
ers. 

"A'm  no'  desirin'  popularity,"  said  Tam 
modestly,  "  'tis  against  ma  principles  to  ac- 
cept any  other  presents  than  seegairs,  and 
even  these  A'm  loath  to  accept  unless  they're 
good  ones." 

He  looked  at  his  wrist  watch,  folded  his 
serviette  and  rose  from  the  mess-table  with  a 
little  nod  to  the  president. 

It  was  a  gratifying  fact,  which  Blackie 
had  remarked,  that  Second  Lieutenant,  late 
Sergeant,  Tam,  had  taken  to  the  mess  as 
naturally  as  a  duck  to  water.  He  showed 
neither  awkwardness  nor  shyness,  but  this 
was  consonant  with  his  habit  of  thought. 
Once  attune  your  mind  to  the  reception  of 
the  unexpected,  so  that  even  the  great  and 
vital  facts  of  life  and  death  leave  you  un- 
shaken and  unamazed,  and  the  lesser  quan- 
tities are  adjusted  with  ease. 

Tam  had  new  quarters,  his  batman  had 
become  his  servant,  certain  little  comforts 
which  were  absent  from  the  bunk  were  dis- 
198 


A  REPRISAL  RAID 

coverable  in  the  cozy  little  room  he  now 
occupied. 

His  day's  work  was  finished  and  he  was 
bound  on  an  expedition  which  was  one  part 
business  and  nine  parts  joy-ride,  frank  and 
undisguised,  for  the  squadron-car  had  been 
placed  at  his  disposal.  The  road  to  Amiens 
was  dry,  the  sun  was  up,  and  the  sky  was 
blue,  and  behind  him  was  the  satisfactory 
sense  of  good  work  well  done,  for  the  "Sau- 
sage-Killer" was  at  that  moment  on  his  way 
back  to  the  base,  sitting  vis-a-vis  with  a 
grimy  young  military  gentleman  who  cud- 
dled a  rifle  and  a  fixed  bayonet  with  one 
hand  and  played  scales  on  a  mouth-organ 
with  the  other,  softly,  since  he  was  a  mere 
learner,  and  this  was  an  opportunity  for 
making  joyful  noises  without  incurring  the 
opprobrium  of  his  superiors. 

Tarn  enjoyed  the  beauty  and  freshness  of 
the  early  afternoon,  every  minute  of  it.  He 
drove  slowly,  his  eyes  wandering  occasion- 
ally from  the  road  to  make  a  professional 
199 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

scrutiny  of  the  skies.  He  spotted  the  lonely 
watches  of  89  Squadron  and  smiled,  for  89 
had  vowed  many  oaths  that  they  would  catch 
the  "Sausage-Killer,"  and  had  even  initi- 
ated a  sweepstakes  for  the  lucky  man  who 
crashed  him. 

At  a  certain  quiet  restaurant  on  the 
Grand'  Place  he  found  a  girl  waiting  for 
him,  a  girl  in  soiled  khaki,  critically  exam- 
ining the  menu. 

She  looked  up  with  a  smile  as  the  young 
man  came  in,  hung  his  cap  upon  a  peg  and 
drew  out  the  chair  opposite. 

"I  have  ordered  the  tea,  though  it  is  aw- 
fully early,"  she  said;  "now  tell  me  what 
you  have  been  doing  all  the  morning." 

She  spoke  with  an  air  of  proprietorship, 
a  tone  which  marked  the  progress  of  this 
strange  friendship,  which  had  indeed  gone 
very  far  since  Tarn's  violent  introduction  to 
Vera  Laramore  on  the  Amiens  road. 

"Weel,"  said  Tarn,  and  hesitated. 

"Please  don't  give  me  a  dry  report,"  she 
200 


A  REPRISAL  RAID 

warned  him.  "I  want  the  real  story,  with 
all  its  proper  fixings." 

"Hoo  shall  A'  start?"  asked  Tarn. 

"You  start  with  the  beginning  of  the  day. 
Now,  properly,  Tarn." 

Her  slim  finger  threatened  him. 

"Is  it  literature  ye'd  be  wanting?"  asked 
Tarn  shyly. 

She  nodded,  and  Tarn  shut  his  eyes  and 
began  after  the  style  of  an  amateur  elocu- 
tionist: 

"The  dawn  broke  fair  and  bonny  an'  the 
fairest  rays  of  the  rising  sun  fell  upon  the 
sleeping  'Sausage-Killer' — " 

"Who  is  the  'Sausage-Killer'?"  asked  the 
girl,  startled. 

"He'll  be  the  villain  of  the  piece,  A'm 
thinkin',"  said  Tarn,  "but  if  ye  interrupt — " 

"I  am  sorry,"  murmured  the  girl,  apolo- 
getically. 

She  sat  with  her  elbows  on  the  table,  her 
chin  resting  on  her  clasped  hands  and  her 
eyes  fixed  on  Tarn,  eyes  that  danced  with 
201 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

amusement,  with  admiration,  and  with  just 
that  hint  of  tenderness  that  you  might  ex- 
pect in  the  proud  mother  showing  off  the 
accomplishments  of  her  first-born. 

" — fell  aboot  the  heid  of  the  'Sausage- 
Killer,'  "  Tarn  went  on,  "bathin'  his  shaven 
croon  wi'  saft  radiance.  There  was  a  dis- 
creet tap  at  the  door,  and  Wilhelm  Mac- 
Bethmann,  his  faithful  retainer,  staggered 
in,  bearin'  his  cup  of  acorn  coffee. 

"  'Rise,  mein  Herr,'  says  he,  'get  oot  o' 
bed,  ma  bonnie  laird.' 

"  'What  o'clock  is  it,  Angus?'  says  the 
'Sausage-Killer,'  sitting  up  and  rubbing  his 
eyes. 

"  'It's  seven,  your  Majesty,'  says  Mac- 
Bethmann,  'shall  I  lay  out  yeer  synthetic 
sausage  or  shall  I  fry  up  yesterday's  sauer- 
kraut?' 

"But  the  'Sausage-Killer'  shakes  his  head. 

"  'Mon  Angus,'  he  says,  'A've  had  a  heedi- 

ous  dream.     A'  dreamt,'  says  he,  'that  A' 

went  for  to  kill  a  wee  sausage  and  A'  dived 

for  him  and  missed  him  and  before  A'  could 

202 


A  REPRISAL  RAID 

recover,  the  sausage  bit  me.  'Tis  a  warn- 
ing,' says  he. 

"  'Sir,'  says  MacBethmann,  trembling  in 
every  limb  and  even  in  his  neck,  'ye'd  be 
wise  no'  to  go  out  the  day.' 

"But  the  prood  'Sausage-Killer'  rises  him- 
self to  his  full  length. 

"  'Unhand  ma  pants,  Angus,'  says  he,  'ma 
duty  calls,'  and  away  goes  the  puir  wee  fel- 
ler to  meet  his  doom  at  the  hands  of  the 
Terror  of  the  Skies." 

"That's  you,"  said  the  girl. 

"Ye're  a  good  guesser,"  said  Tarn,  pour- 
ing out  the  tea  the  waiter  had  brought. 
"Do  ye  take  sugar  or  are  ye  a  victim  of  the 
cocktail  habit?" 

"Did  you  kill  him?"  asked  the  girl. 

"Poleetically  and  in  a  military  sense  the 
'Sausage-Killer'  is  dead,"  said  Tarn;  "as  a 
human  being  he  is  still  alive,  being  detained 
during  his  Majesty's  displeasure." 

"You  will  tell  me  the  rest,  won't  you?" 
she  pleaded.  With  her,  Tarn  invariably 
ended  his  romances  at  the  point  where  they 
203 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

could  only  be  continued  by  the  relation  of 
his  own  prowess,  "and  I'm  glad  you  brought 
him  down— it  makes  me  shudder  to  see  the 
balloons  burning.  Oh,  and  do  you  know 
they  bombed  Number  One-Three-One  last 
night?" 

"Ye  don't  say!" 

There  was  amazement  in  his  look,  but 
there  was  pain,  too.  The  traditions  of  the 
air  service  had  become  his  traditions.  A 
breach  of  the  unwritten  code  by  the  enemy 
was  almost  as  painful  a  matter  to  him  as 
though  it  was  committed  by  one  of  his  own 
comrades.  For  his  spiritual  growth  had 
dated  from  the  hour  of  his  enlistment,  and 
that  period  of  life  wherein  youth  absorbs  its 
most  vivid  and  most  eradicable  impressions, 
had  coincided  with  the  two  years  he  had 
spent  in  his  new  environment. 

He  understood  nothing  of  the  army  and  its 
intimate  life,  of  its  fierce  and  wholesome 
code.  He  could  only  wonder  at  the  courage 
and  the  endurance  of  those  men  on  the 
ground  who  were  cheerful  in  all  circum- 
204 


A  REPRISAL  RAID 

stances.  They  amazed  and  in  a  sense  de- 
pressed him.  He  had  been  horrified  to  see 
snipers  bayoneted  without  mercy,  without 
being  given  a  chance  to  surrender,  not  real- 
izing that  the  sniper  is  outside  all  conces- 
sion and  can  not  claim  any  of  the  rough 
courtesies  of  war. 

He  had  placed  his  enemy  on  a  pedestal, 
and  it  hurt  almost  as  much  to  know  that  the 
German  fell  short  of  his  conception  as  it 
would  have,  had  one  of  his  own  comrades 
been  guilty  of  an  unpermissible  act. 

Hospitals  had  been  bombed  before,  but 
there  was  a  chance  that  the  wandering  night- 
bird  had  dropped  his  pills  in  ignorance  of 
what  lay  beneath  him.  Of  late,  however, 
hospitals  and  clearing  stations  had  been  at- 
tacked with  such  persistence  that  there  was 
very  little  doubt  that  the  enemy  was  delib- 
erately carrying  out  a  hideous  plan. 

"Ye  don't  say?"  he  repeated,  and  the  girl 
noticed  that  his  voice  was  a  little  husky. 
"Were  ye — "  he  hesitated. 

"I  was  on  convoy  duty,  fortunately,"  said 
205 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

the  girl,  "but  that  doesn't  save  you  in  the 
daytime,  and  I  have  been  bombed  lots  of 
times,  although  the  red  cross  on  the  top  of 
the  ambulance  is  quite  clear — isn't  it?" 

Tarn  nodded. 

"There  was  no  damage?"  he  asked  anx- 
iously. 

"Not  very  much  in  one  way,"  she  said, 
"he  missed  the  hospital  but  got  the  surgery 
and  poor  Hector — "  She  stopped,  and  he 
saw  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"Ye  don't  tell  me?"  he  asked,  startled. 

She  nodded. 

"Puir  Hector;  well,  that's  too  bad,  puir 
wee  little  feller!" 

"Everybody  is  awfully  upset  about  it,  he 
was  such  a  cheery  little  chap.  He  was 
killed  quite — nastily."  She  hesitated  to 
give  the  grisly  details,  but  Tarn,  who  had 
seen  the  effect  of  high  explosive  bombs,  had 
no  difficulty  in  reconstructing  the  scene 
where  Hector  laid  down  his  life  for  his 
adopted  country. 

When  he  got  back  to  the  aerodrome  that 
206 


A  REPRISAL  RAID 

night  he  found  that  the  bombing  of  hospitals 
was  the  subject  which  was  exciting  the  mess 
to  the  exclusion  of  all  others. 

"It's  positively  ghastly  that  a  decent  lot 
of  fellows  like  German  airmen  can  do  such 
diabolical  things,"  said  Blackie;  "we  are  so 
helpless.  We  can't  go  along  and  bomb  his 
collecting  stations." 

"Fritz's  material  is  deteriorating,"  said  a 
wing  commander;  "there's  not  enough  gen- 
tlemen to  go  round.  Everybody  who  knows 
Germany  expected  this  to  happen.  You 
don't  suppose  fellows  like  Boltke  or  Immel- 
mann  or  Richthoven  would  have  done  such 
a  swinish  thing?" 

That  same  night  One-Three-One  was 
bombed  again,  this  time  with  more  disas- 
trous effects.  One  of  the  raiders  was 
brought  down  by  Blackie  himself,  who  shot 
both  the  pilot  and  the  observer,  but  the  raid 
was  only  one  of  many. 

The  news  came  through  in  the  morning 
that  a  systematic  bombing  of  field  hospitals 
had  been  undertaken  from  Ypres  to  the 
207 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

Somme.     At    two    o'clock    that    afternoon 
Blackie  summoned  his  squadron. 

"There's  a  retaliation  stunt  on  to-night," 
he  explained;  "we  are  getting  up  a  scratch 
raid  into  Germany.  ,  You  fellows  will  be  in 
for  it.  Tarn,  you  will  be  my  second  in 
command." 

At  ten  o'clock  that  night  the  squadron 
rose  and  headed  eastward.  The  moon  was 
at  its  full,  but  there  was  a  heavy  ground  mist, 
and  at  six  thousand  feet  a  thin  layer  of 
clouds  which  afforded  the  raiders  a  little 
cover. 

Tarn  was  on  the  left  of  the  diamond  for- 
mation, flying  a  thousand  feet  above  the 
bombers,  and  for  an  hour  and  a  half  his 
eyes  were  glued  upon  the  signal  light  of  his 
leader.  Presently  their  objective  came  into 
sight:  a  spangle  of  lights  on  the  ground. 
You  could  follow  the  streets  and  the  circu- 
lar sweep  of  the  big  Central  Platz  and  even 
distinguish  the  bridges  across  the  Rhine, 
then  of  a  sudden  the  lights  blurred  and  be- 
208 


A  REPRISAL  RAID 

came  indistinct,  and  Tarn  muttered  an  im- 
patient "Tchk,"  for  the  squadron  was  run- 
ning into  a  cloud-bank  which  might  be  small 
but  was  more  likely  to  be  fairly  extensive. 

They  were  still  able  to  distinguish  the 
locality,  until  three  spurts  of  red  flame  in 
the  very  center  of  the  town  marked  the  fall- 
ing of  the  first  bombs.  Then  all  the  promi- 
nent lights  went  out.  There  were  hundreds 
of  feeble  flickers  from  the  houses,  but  after 
a  while  these  too  faded  and  died.  In  their 
place  appeared  the  bright,  staring  faces  of 
the  searchlights  as  they  swept  the  clouds. 

Tarn  saw  the  flash  of  guns,  saw  the  red 
flame-flowers  of  the  bombs  burst  to  life  and 
die,  and  straining  his  eyes  through  the  mist 
caught  the  "Return"  signal  of  his  leader. 
He  banked  round  and  ran  into  a  thicker  pall 
of  fog  and  began  climbing.  As  he  turned 
he  saw  a  quick,  red,  angry  flash  appear  in 
the  clouds  and  something  whistled  past  his 
head.  The  guns  had  got  the  altitude  of  the 
bombers  to  a  nicety  and  Tarn  grinned. 

By  this  time  Blackie's  lights  were  out  of 
209 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

sight  and  Tarn  was  alone.  He  looked  down 
at  his  compass  and  the  quivering  needle  now 
pointed  to  his  right,  which  meant  he  was 
on  the  homeward  track.  He  kept  what  he 
thought  was  a  straight  course,  but  the  needle 
swung  round  so  that  it  pointed  toward  him. 
He  banked  over  again  to  the  right  and  swore 
as  he  saw  the  needle  spin  round  as  though 
some  invisible  finger  was  twirling  it. 

Now  the  airplane  compass  is  subject  to  fits 
of  madness. 

There  are  dozens  of  explanations  as  to 
why  such  things  occur,  but  the  recollection 
of  a  few  of  these  did  not  materially  assist  the 
scout.  The  thing  to  do  was  to  get  clear  of 
the  clouds  and  take  his  direction  by  the  stars. 
He  climbed  and  climbed,  until  his  aeronom- 
eter  pointed  to  twenty  thousand  feet.  By 
this  time  it  was  necessary  to  employ  the  ap- 
paratus which  he  possessed  for  sustaining 
himself  at  this  altitude.  It  was  amazing 
that  the  clouds  should  be  so  high,  and  he 
began  to  think  that  his  aeronometer  was  out 
210 


A  REPRISAL  RAID 

of  order  when  he  suddenly  dived  up  into 
the  light  of  a  cold  moon. 

He  looked  around,  seeking  the  pole-star, 
and  found  it  on  his  left.  So  all  the  time  he 
had  been  running  eastward. 

And  then  his  engine  began  to  miss. 

Tarn  was  a  philosopher  and  a  philosopher 
never  expects  miracles.  He  understood  his 
engine  as  a  good  jockey  understands  his 
horse.  He  pushed  the  nose  of  his  machine 
earthward  and  planed  down  through  an  in- 
terminable bank  of  clouds  until  he  found  a 
gray  countryside  running  up  to  meet  him. 
There  were  no  houses,  no  lights,  nothing  but 
a  wide  expanse  of  country  dotted  with  sparse 
copses. 

There  was  sufficient  light  to  enable  him  to 
select  a  landing-place,  and  he  came  down  in 
the  middle  of  a  big  pasture  on  the  edge  of  a 
forest  of  gaunt  trees. 

He  unstrapped  himself  and  climbed 
down,  stretching  his  limbs  before  he  took  a 
gentle  trot  around  the  machine  to  restore  his 
211 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

circulation.  Then  he  climbed  back  into  the 
fuselage  and  tinkered  at  the  engine.  He 
knew  what  was  wrong  and  remedied  the 
mischief  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Then  he 
inspected  his  petrol  supply  and  whistled. 
He  had  made  a  rough  calculation  and  he 
knew  within  a  few  miles  how  far  he  was  in 
the  interior  of  Germany,  and  by  the  char- 
acter of  the  country  he  knew  he  was  in  the 
marshy  lands  of  Oosenburg,  and  there  was 
scarcely  enough  petrol  to  reach  the  Rhine. 

He  left  his  machine,  slipped  an  automatic 
pistol  into  the  pocket  of  his  overall  and  went 
on  a  voyage  of  exploration. 

Half  a  mile  from  where  he  landed,  he 
struck  what  he  gathered  was  a  high-road 
and  proceeded  cautiously,  for  the  high-road 
would  probably  be  patrolled,  the  more  so 
if  the  noise  of  his  machine  had  been  cor- 
rectly interpreted,  though  it  was  in  his  fa- 
vor that  he  had  shut  off  his  engines  and  had 
planed  down  for  five  miles  without  a  sound. 

There  was  nobody  in  sight.  To  the  left 
the  road  stretched  in  the  diffused  moonlight, 
212 


A  REPRISAL  RAID 

a  straight  white  ribbon  unbroken  by  any 
habitation.  To  the  right  he  discerned  a 
small  hut,  and  to  this  he  walked.  He  had 
taken  a  dozen  steps  when  a  voice  challenged 
him  in  German.  At  this  point  the  road  was 
sunken  and  it  was  from  the  shadow  of  the 
cutting  that  the  challenge  came. 

"Hello,"  said  Tarn  in  English,  and  a  little 
figure  started  out. 

Tarn  saw  the  rifle  in  his  hand  and  caught 
the  glitter  of  a  bayonet. 

"You  English?"  said  a  voice. 

"Scotch,"  said  Tarn  severely. 

"Aha!"  There  was  a  note  of  exultation. 
"You  English-escaped  prisoner!  I  haf  you 
arrested  and  with  me  to  the  Commandant 
of  Camp  74  you  shall  go." 

"Is  it  English  ye're  speakin'?"  said  Tarn. 

The  little  man  came  closer  to  him.  He 
stood  four  feet  three  and  he  was  very  fat. 
He  wore  no  uniform,  and  was  evidently  one 
of  those  patriotic  souls  who  undertake  spare- 
time  guard  duty.  His  presence  was  ex- 
plained by  his  greeting.  Some  men  had 
213 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

escaped  from  the  German  prison-camp 
seven  miles  away  and  he  was  one  of  the  sen- 
tries who  were  watching  the  road. 

"You  come  mit  me,  vorivdrts!" 

Tarn  obeyed  meekly  and  stepped  out  to 
the  hut. 

"I  keep  you  here.  Presently  the  Herr 
Leutnant  will  come  and  you  shall  go  back." 

He  walked  into  the  hut  and  waited  in 
silence  while  the  little  man  struck  a  match 
and  lit  an  oil-lamp.  The  sentry  fixed  the 
glass  chimney  and  turned  to  face  the  muzzle 
of  Tarn's  automatic  pistol. 

"Sit  down,  ma  wee  frien',''  said  Tarn;  "let 
ma  take  that  gun  away  from  ye  before  ye 
hairt  yeerself — mairciful  Heavens!" 

He  was  staring  at  the  little  man,  but  it  was 
not  the  obvious  terror  of  the  civilian  which 
fascinated  him,  it  was  the  big,  white,  un- 
shaven face,  the  long  upper  lip,  and  the  low 
corrugated  brow  under  the  stiff-bristling 
hair,  the  small  twinkling  eyes,  and  the  broad, 
almost  animal,  nose  that  held  him  for  a  mo- 
ment speechless. 

214 


A  REPRISAL  RAID 

"Hector  O'Brien!"  gasped  Tam,  and  al- 
most lost  his  grasp  of  the  situation  in  the 
discovery  of  this  amazing  likeness.  "A' 
thought  ye  was  dead,"  said  Tam.  "Oh, 
Hector,  we  have  missed  ye!" 

The  little  man,  his  shaking  hands  up- 
lifted, could  only  chatter  incoherently.  It 
needed  this  to  complete  the  resemblance  to 
the  deceased  mascot  of  One-Three-One. 

"Ma  puir  wee  man,"  said  Tam,  as  he  sci- 
entifically tied  the  hands  of  his  prisoner,  "so 
the  Gairmans  got  ye  after  all." 

"You  shall  suffer  great  punishment,"  his 
prisoner  was  spurred  by  fear  to  offer  a  pro- 
test. "Presently  the  Herr  Leutnant  will 
come  with  his  motor-car." 

"God  bless  ye  for  those  encouraging 
words,"  said  Tam.  "Now  will  ye  tell  me 
how  many  soldiers  are  coming  along?" 

"Four — six — "  began  the  prisoner. 

"Make  it  ten,"  said  Tam,  examining  the 

magazine  of  his  pistol.     "A'  can  manage  wi' 

ten,  but  if  there's  eleven,  A'  shall  have  to 

fight  'im  in  a  vulgar  way  wi'  ma  fists.     Ye'll 

215 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

sit  here,"  said  he,  "and  ye  will  not  speak." 

He  went  to  the  untidy  bed,  and  taking  a 
coarse  sacking-sheet  he  wound  it  about  the 
man's  mouth.  Then  he  went  to  the  door 
and  waited. 

Presently  he  heard  the  hum  of  the  car,  and 
saw  two  twinkling  lights  coming  from  the 
eastward.  Nearer  and  nearer  came  the 
motor-car  and  pulled  up  with  a  jerk  before 
the  hut. 

There  were  two  men,  a  chauffeur  and  an 
officer,  cloaked  and  overcoated,  in  the  ton- 
neau.  The  officer  opened  the  door  of  the 
car  and  stepped  down. 

"Franz!"  he  barked.  Tarn  stepped  out 
into  the  moonlight. 

"Is  it  ma  frien'  ye're  calling?"  he  asked 
softly.     "And  will  ye  pit  up  yeer  hands." 

"Who — who — "  demanded  the  officer. 

"Dinna  make  a  noise  like  an  owl,"  said 
Tarn,  "or  you  will  frighten  the  wee  birdies. 
Get  out  of  that,  McClusky."  This  to  the 
chauffeur. 

216 


A  REPRISAL  RAID 

He  marched  them  inside  the  hut  and 
searched  them.  The  officer  had  come 
providentially  equipped  with  a  pair  of 
handcuffs,  which  Tarn  used  to  fasten  the 
well-born  and  the  low-born  together.  Then 
he  made  an  examination  of  the  car,  and  to 
his  joy  discovered  six  cans  of  petrol,  for  in 
this  deserted  region  where  petrol  stores  are 
non-existent  a  patrol  car  carries  two  days' 
supply. 

He  brought  his  three  prisoners  out,  loos- 
ened the  bonds  of  the  little  man,  and  after 
a  little  persuasion  succeeded  in  inducing  his 
three  unwilling  porters  to  carry  the  tins 
across  a  rough  field  to  where  his  plane  was 
standing. 

In  what  persiflage  he  indulged,  what  bit- 
ter and  satirical  things  he  said  of  Germans 
and  Germany  is  not  recorded.  They  stood 
in  abject  silence  while  he  replenished  his 
store  of  petrol  and  then — 

"Up  wi'  ye,"  said  he  to  Hector  O'Brien's 
counterpart. 

217 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

"For  why?"  asked  the  affrighted  man. 

"Up  wi'  ye,"  said  Tarn  sternly;  "climb 
into  that  seat  and  fix  the  belt  around  ye, 
quick — A'm  taking  ye  back  to  yeer  home!" 

His  pistol-point  was  very  urgent  and  the 
little  man  scrambled  up  behind  the  pilot's 
seat. 

"Now,  you,  McClusky,"  said  Tarn,  fol- 
lowing him  and  deftly  strapping  himself, 
"ye'll  turn  that  propeller — pull  it  down  so, 
d'ye  hear  me,  ye  miserable  chauffeur!" 

The  man  obeyed.  He  pulled  over  the 
propeller-blade  twice,  then  jumped  back  as 
with  a  roar  the  engine  started. 

As  the  airplane  began  to  move,  first  slowly 
and  then  gathering  speed  with  every  second, 
Tarn  saw  the  two  men  break  into  a  run  to- 
ward the  road  and  the  waiting  motor-car. 

Behind  him  he  felt  rather  than  heard 
slight  grunts  and  groans  from  his  unhappy 
passenger,  and  then  at  the  edge  of  the  field 
he  brought  up  the  elevator  and  the  little 
scout,  roaring  like  a  thousand  express  trains, 
218 


'Up  wi'  ye,"  said    Tam  sternly;        climb  into  that  seat. 
A'm  taking  ye  back  to  yeer  home" 


A  REPRISAL  RAID 

shot  up  through  the  mist  and  disappeared 
from  the  watchers  on  the  road  in  the  low- 
hanging  clouds,  bearing  to  the  bereaved  and 
saddened  staff  of  One-Three-One  Hector 
O'Brien's  understudy. 


219 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  LAST  LOAD 

ALONG  a  muddy  road  came  an  ambulance. 
It  was  moving  slowly,  zigzagging  from  side 
to  side  to  avoid  the  shell  holes  and  the 
subsidences  which  the  collapse  of  ancient 
trenches  on  each  side  of  the  road  had  caused. 
It  was  a  secondary  or  even  a  tertiary  road, 
represented  on  the  map  by  a  spidery  line, 
and  was  taken  by  driver  Vera  Laramore  be- 
cause there  was  no  better. 

From  the  rear  end  of  the  ambulance 
showed  eight  muddy  soles,  three  pairs  with 
toes  upturned,  the  fourth  at  such  an  angle, 
one  foot  with  the  other,  as  to  suggest  a  pain 
beyond  any  but  this  mute  expression. 

On  the  tail-board  of  the  ambulance  an 
orderly  of  the  R.  A.  M.  C.  balanced  himself, 
gaunt-eyed,  unshaven,  caked  from  head  to 
220 


THE  LAST  LOAD 

foot  in  yellow  mud,  the  red  cross  on  his  un- 
tidy brassard  looming  faintly  from  its  grimy 
background.  Beyond  the  soles  with  their 
worn  and  glaring  nails,  a  disorderly  rumple 
of  brown  army  blankets,  and  between  the 
stretchers  a  confusion  of  entangled  haver- 
sacks, water-bottles  and  equipment,  there 
was  nothing  to  be  seen  of  the  patients,  though 
a  thin  blue  haze  which  curled  along  the  tilt 
showed  that  one  at  least  was  well  enough  to 
smoke. 

The  ambulance  made  its  slow  way 
through  the  featureless  country,  past  rubble 
heaps  which  had  once  been  the  habitations 
of  men  and  women,  splintered  trunks  of 
poplar  avenues,  great  excavations  where 
shells  of  an  immense  caliber  had  fallen  long 
ago  and  the  funnel  shapes  of  which  were 
now  overgrown  with  winter  weeds. 

Presently  the  ambulance  turned  on  to  the 
main  road  and  five  people  heaved  a  sigh  of 
thankfulness,  the  sixth,  he  of  the  eloquent 
soles,  being  without  interest  in  anything. 

The  car  with  its  sad  burden  passed 
221 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

smoothly  along  the  broad  level  road,  such  a 
road  as  had  never  been  seen  in  France  or  in 
any  other  country  before  the  war,  increas- 
ing its  speed  as  it  went.  Red-capped  po- 
licemen at  the  crossroads  held  up  the  traffic 
— guns  and  mechanical  transport,  mud- 
splashed  staff  cars  and  tramping  infantry 
edged  closer  to  the  side  to  let  it  pass. 

Presently  the  car  turned  again,  swept  past 
a  big  aerodrome — the  girl  who  drove  threw 
one  quick  glance,  had  a  glimpse  of  the  pa- 
rade-ground but  did  not  recognize  the  man 
she  hoped  to  see — and  a  few  minutes  later 
she  was  slowing  the  ambulance  before  the 
reception  room  of  General  Hospital  One- 
Three-One. 

The  R.  A.  M.  C.  man  dismounted,  nodded 
to  other  R.  A.  M.  C.  men  more  tidy,  more 
shaven,  and  a  little  envious  it  seemed  of 
their  comrade's  dishabille  and  the  four  cases 
were  lifted  smoothly  and  swiftly  and  carried 
into  the  big  hut. 

"All  right,  driver,"  said  the  R.  A.  M.  C. 
sergeant  when  four  stretchers  and  eight 
222 


THE  LAST  LOAD 

neatly  folded  blankets  had  been  put  into  the 
ambulance  to  replace  those  she  had  surren- 
dered, and  Vera,  with  a  little  jerk  of  her 
head,  sent  the  car  forward  to  the  park. 

She  brought  her  machine  in  line  with  one 
of  the  four  rows,  checked  her  arrival  and 
walked  wearily  over  to  her  quarters.  She 
had  been  out  that  morning  since  four,  she 
had  seen  sights  and  heard  sounds  which  a 
delicately  nurtured  young  woman,  who 
three  years  before  had  shuddered  at  the 
sight  of  a  spider,  could  never  in  her  wildest 
nightmare  imagine  would  be  brought  to  her 
sight  or  hearing.  She  was  weary,  body  and 
soul,  sick  with  the  nausea  which  is  incom- 
parable to  any  other.  And  now  she  was  at 
the  end  of  it.  Her  application  for  long 
leave  had  followed  the  smashing  up  of  her 
airman  brother  and  his  compulsory  retire- 
ment in  England. 

And  yet  she  could  not  bear  the  thought  of 

leaving  all  this;  the  horror  and  the  wonder 

of  it  were  alike  fascinating.     She  felt  the 

same  pangs  of  remorse  she  had  experienced 

223 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

on  the  one  occasion  she  had  run  away  from 
school.  She  branded  herself  as  a  deserter 
and  looked  upon  those  who  had  the  nerve 
and  will  to  stay  on  with  something  of  envy. 

Her  plain-spoken  friend  was  sitting  on 
her  bed  in  a  kimono  as  the  girl  came  in. 

"Well?"  she  asked. 

"Well,  what?"  asked  Vera  irritably. 

"Are  you  sorry  you  are  leaving  us?" 

"I  haven't  left  yet,"  said  the  girl,  sitting 
down  and  unstrapping  her  leather  leggings 
slowly. 

"You  don't  go  till  to-morrow,  that's  true," 
said  the  other  girl  calmly,  "and  how  have 
you  rounded  off  all  your  little — friend- 
ships?" There  was  just  the  slightest  of 
pauses  between  the  two  last  words. 

"You  mean  Lieutenant  MacTavish?" 
asked  Vera  distraitly. 

"I  mean  Tarn,"  said  the  girl  with  a  nod. 

"Exactly  what  do  you  mean  by  'rounded 
off'?" 

The  other  girl  laughed.  "Well,  there 
224 


THE  LAST  LOAD 

are  many  ways  of  a  friendship,"  she  smiled ; 
"there's  the  'If-you-come-to-my-town-look- 
me-up'  way.  There's  the  'You'll-write- 
every-day'  way — and — "  She  hesitated 
again. 

"Go  on,"  said  Vera  calmly. 

"And  there's — well,  the  conventional 
way." 

Vera  smiled.  "I  can't  imagine  Tarn  do- 
ing anything  conventional,"  she  said. 

Elizabeth  jumped  up  with  a  laugh, 
walked  to  the  little  bare  dressing-table  and 
began  brushing  her  hair. 

"Why  do  you  laugh?"  asked  Vera. 

"The  whole  thing's  so  curious,"  replied 
the  girl.  "Here's  a  man  who  is  head-over- 
heels  in  love  with  you — " 

"In  love  with  me!" 

Vera  Laramore  went  red  and  white  by 
turns  and  lost,  for  a  moment,  her  grasp  of 
the  situation,  then  grew  virtuously  indig- 
nant, which  was  a  tactical  error  for  if  she 
were  innocent  of  such  a  thought  as  that 
225 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

,which  her  friend  expressed  she  should  have 
been  either  amused  or  curious. 

"How  can  you  talk  such  rubbish?  Tam 
and  I  are  jolly  good  friends.  He  is  a  real 
fine  man,  as  straight  as  a  die  and  as  plucky 
as  he's  straight.  He  has  more  sense,  more 
judgment — "     She  was  breathless. 

"Spare  me  the  catalogue  of  his  virtues," 
said  Elizabeth  drily.  "I  grant  he  is  perfec- 
tion and  therefore  unlovable.  All  that  I 
asked  you  out  of  sheer  idle  curiosity  was: 
How  is  your  friendship  to  be  rounded  off?" 

Vera  was  silent.  "I  shall  see  him  to- 
night, of  course,"  she  said  with  a  fine  air  of 
unconcern,  "and  I  hope  we  shall  part  the 
best  of  friends;  but  as  to  his  being  in  love 
with  me,  that  is  nonsense!" 

"Of  course  it  is,"  said  Elizabeth  sooth- 
ingly. 

"What  makes  you  think  he  is  in  love  with 
me?"  Vera  asked  suddenly. 

"Symptoms." 

"But  what  symptoms?" 
226 


THE  LAST  LOAD 

"Well,  you  are  always  together.  He 
drops  bunches  of  flowers  for  you  on  your 
birthday." 

"Pshaw!"  said  Vera  scornfully.  "I 
thought  you  had  more  knowledge  of  men 
and  women.     That  is  friendship." 

"Ha,  ha!"  laughed  Elizabeth  politely. 

"But  honestly,"  asked  Vera,  "what  makes 
you  think  so?" 

"I  won't  tell  you  any  more,"  said  the  girl, 
turning  around  and  tying  her  hair,  "but  I 
will  put  a  straight  question  to  you,  my  dear; 
do  you  love  Tarn?" 

"Of  course  not,"  Vera  was  red;  "you  are 
making  me  very  uncomfortable.  I  tell  you 
he  is  a  good  friend  of  mine  and  I  respect 
him  enormously." 

"And  you  don't  love  him?" 

"Of  course  I  don't  love  him.  What  a 
stupid  thing  to  imagine!" 

"Such  things  have  happened,"  said  the 
girl. 

"I  have  never  thought  of  such  a  thing," 
227 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

said  Vera;  "but  suppose  I  did,  of  course  it's 
an  absurd  idea,  but  suppose  I  did?" 

"If  I  were  you  and  I  did,"  said  the  girl, 
"I  should  tell  him  so." 

"Elizabeth!" 

"It  sounds  bold,  doesn't  it?  But  I  will 
tell  you  why  I  make  that  suggestion,  because 
if  you  don't  tell  him  he  won't  tell  you.  You 
see,  my  dear,  you  are  a  very  rich  young 
woman,  a  very  well-educated  young  woman, 
you  have  a  social  position  and  a  large  num- 
ber of  friends.  Tarn  is  a  self-educated  man, 
with  no  money  and  very  few  prospects  and 
no  social  position,  and,  as  you  say,  he  is 
straight  and  honest — " 

"He  is  the  straightest  and  most  honest  man 
in  the  world,"  said  Vera  warmly. 

"Well,  in  those  circumstances  can't  you 
see,  he  would  no  more  think  of  asking  for 
you  than  he  would  of  calling  at  Buckingham 
Palace  and  demanding  the  Kohinoor!" 

"In  America,"  said  Vera,  "we  haven't 
those  absurd  ideas." 

"Oh,  shucks!"  said  Elizabeth  contemptu- 
228 


THE  LAST  LOAD 

ously.  "You  seem  to  forget  I  was  born  in 
Pennsylvania." 

And  there  the  conversation  ended,  and  for 
the  rest  of  the  day  Vera  was  silent  and 
thoughtful,  excusing  her  taciturnity  by  the 
fact  that  she  had  a  lot  of  packing  to  do  and 
needed  to  concentrate  her  mind  upon  its  per- 
formance. 

The  mortal  foe  to  instinct  is  reason. 
They  are  the  negative  and  positive  of  mental 
volition.  The  man  who  retains  the  animal 
gift  of  unreasoning  divination,  preserving 
that  clear  power  against  the  handicaps 
which  mind  training  and  education  impose, 
is  necessarily  psychic,  or,  as  they  say  in  cer- 
tain Celtic  countries,  "fey." 

Tarn  went  up  on  patrol  flying  a  new 
"pup" — a  tiny  machine  powerfully  engined, 
which  climbed  at  an  angle  of  fifty  degrees 
and  at  a  surprising  speed.  He  pushed  up 
through  a  fog  bank  at  three  thousand  feet 
and  reached  blue  skies.  His  engine  was 
running  sweetly,  there  was  just  the  "give"  in 
his  little  chaser,  the  indefinable  resilience 
229 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

which  a  good  machine  should  possess,  his 
guns  were  in  excellent  order,  his  controls 
worked  smoothly,  but — 

Tarn  was  at  a  loss  how  to  proceed  from 
that  "but." 

He  turned  the  nose  of  the  "pup"  to  earth 
and  planed  down  to  the  aerodrome. 

Blackie  left  the  machine  he  was  about  to 
take  and  walked  across  to  Tarn. 

"Anything  wrong?"  he  asked. 

"Weel,"  replied  Tarn  cautiously,  "I'd  no' 
go  so  far  as  to  say  that  there's  verra  much 
wrong  wi'  the  young  fellow." 

Blackie  looked  at  him  keenly. 

"Engines — ?" 

Tarn  shook  his  head. 

"No,  they  were  wairking  bonnily — there's 
nothing  to  complain  aboot  only  I  just  felt 
that  'pup'  an'  Tarn  was  no  thinkin'  the  same 
way." 

"Oh!"  said  Blackie. 

He  examined  the  machine,  a  new  one, 
with  the  greatest  care,  tested  the  controls, 
230 


THE  LAST  LOAD 

examined  and  sounded  stays  and  struts  and 
shook  his  head. 

"Take  up  Bartholomew's  machine — he 
went  sick  this  morning/'  he  said. 

Tarn  superintended  the  preparation  of 
Lieutenant  Bartholomew's  "pup"  and 
climbing  in  gave  the  signal. 

"What's  the  matter  with  Tarn?" 

Thornycroft,  a  flight  commander  of  89  A, 
had  strolled  across  and  stood  with  Blackie 
watching  Tarn's  iiny  machine  humming 
cloudward. 

"Tarn  has  what  is  called  on  the  other  side 
a  'hunch,'  "  said  Blackie;  "come  and  look  at 
this  machine  and  see  if  you  can  find  any- 
thing wrong  with  it.  She's  new  from  the 
maker,"  he  went  on,  "in  fact,  the  young  gen- 
tleman who  represents  the  firm  is  at  this 
moment  in  the  mess  laying  down  the  law  on 
aviation,  its  past,  present  and  illimitable  fu- 
ture— there  he  is!" 

Thornycroft  paused  in  his  inspection  to 
watch  the  newcomer.  He  was  a  young  man 
231 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

of  singular  confidence,  who  talked  so  very 
loudly  to  the  officer  who  accompanied  him 
that  the  two  men  by  the  machine  felt  them- 
selves included  in  the  conversation  long  be- 
fore they  could  make  themselves  audible  in 
reply. 

"Hello— hello,"  said  Mr.  Theodore 
Mann,  "what's  wrong — eh?" 

"One  of  my  best  pilots  took  her  up  and 
didn't  like  her,"  said  Blackie. 

"Didn't  like  her?  What's  wrong  with 
her — cold  feet,  eh?  Bless  you,  they  all  get 
it  sooner  or  later — 'the  pitcher  goes  often  to 
the  well,'  et  cetera.  That's  a  proverb  that 
every  flying  man  should  unlearn,  eh?" 

Fie  leapt  lightly  into  the  machine  and 
jiggled  the  joy-stick. 

"I'll  take  her  up  if  you  don't  mind — hi, 
you!"  he  called  a  mechanic,  "start  her  up — 
ready — contact!     Z-r-r-r — !" 

The  little  bird  skimmed  the  smooth  floor 
of  the  aerodrome  and  dived  upward  in  a 
wide  circle. 

232 


THE  LAST  LOAD 

"She's  all  right,"  said  Thornycroft,  shad- 
ing his  eyes;  "what's  wrong  with  Tarn,  I 
wonder?" 

"Tarn  doesn't  funk  a  thing,"  protested 
Blackie,  "I've  never  known  him — my  God!" 

Apparently  nothing  happened — only  the 
machine  without  warning  buckled  up  and 
broke  two  thousand  feet  in  the  air,  a  wing 
dropped  off  and  a  crumpled  thing,  which 
bore  no  resemblance  to  an  airplane,  dropped 
straight  as  a  plummet  to  earth. 

It  fell  less  than  a  hundred  yards  from  the 
aerodrome  and  Mr.  Theodore  Mann  was 
dead  when  they  pulled  him  from  the  wreck- 
age. 

Blackie  directed  the  salvage  work  and 
returned  a  very  thoughtful  man.  When 
Tarn  returned  from  his  tour  he  sent  for  him. 

"You  have  heard  the  news,  I  suppose?" 

Tarn  nodded  gravely. 

"Now,  tell  me,  Tarn,"  said  Blackie,  "did 
you  feel  anything  wrong  with  the  machine — 
why  did  you  bring  her  down?" 
233 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

"Sir-r,"  said  Tarn,  "I'll  no'  romance  an' 
A'm  tellin'  ye  Flyin'-Coor  truth.  I  saw 
nothin'  an'  felt  nothin' — the  engines  were 
guid  an'  sweet  an'  she  swung  like  a  leddy, 
but—" 

"But?" 

"Weel,  what  would  ye  say  if  ye  were 
zoomin'  up  an'  of  a  sudden,  for  no  reason, 
yeer  hair  stood  up  an'  yeer  flesh  went 
creepy  an'  yeer  mouth  grew  as  dry  as  Sun- 
day morning?  An'  there  was  a  cauld,  cauld 
sensation  under  yeer  belt  an'  the  skin  aboot 
yeer  eyes  was  all  strained  and  ye  smelt  things 
an'  tasted  things  sharper,  as  if  all  yeer  senses 
was  racin'  like  the  propeller  of  a  boat  when 
her  bow  goes  under  water?" 

Blackie  shivered.  "That's  how  you  felt, 
eh?"  he  asked.  "Well,  you  needn't  explain 
further,  Tarn." 

"  'Tis  the  airman's  sixty-sixth  sense,"  said 
Tarn.  "If  he's  worried  or  sad  that  sixty- 
sixth  sense  gets  thrown  up  and  becomes  more 
veevid,  if  ye'll  understand  me." 

"Worried?  Sad?1'  said  Blackie  quickly. 
234, 


THE  LAST  LOAD 

" What's  worrying  you,  Tam?     Haven't  you 
had  your  pay  this  month?" 

Tam  smiled  slowly.  "What  that  young 
fellow,  Cox,  is  doing  wi'  ma  fortune  doesna 
keep  me  awake  at  nights,"  he  said;  "the 
MacTavishes  are  feckless,  extravagant 
bodies  and  it  no'  concairns  me  whether  ma 
balance  is  one  poond  or  two." 

"What  is  worrying  you?"  asked  Blackie. 

"Weel,"  said  Tam  slowly,  "A'm  just  a 
wee  bit  grieved.  A  f  rien'  o'  mine  is  leaving 
France." 

"Friend  of  yours?"  said  Blackie.  "Who 
is  your  friend?" 

"He  is  a  braw  big  fellow  about  six  foot 
high  wi'  muscular  arms  and  curly  hair," 
said  Tam.  "His  name's  Jamie  Macfar- 
lane,  and  his  mither's  a  leddy  in  her  own 
right." 

Thus  embarked  upon  his  career  of  men- 
dacity the  artist  in  Tam  compelled  him  to 
complete  the  picture. 

"We  were  at  school  together,  Angus  and 
A'." 

235 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

"You  said  Jamie  just  now,  Tarn,"  re- 
proved Blackie. 

"Angus  is  his  second  name,"  said  the  glib 
Tarn;  "we  were  brought  up  in  the  same 
village,  the  village  of  Glascae,  and  tramped 
off  to  the  same  college  at  six  every  morning 
when  the  bummer  went.  There'd  we  sit, 
me  and  Alec." 

"Angus,"  suggested  Blackie. 

"Me  and  Alec  Angus  Jamie  Macfarlane," 
said  the  undisturbed  Tain,  "listenin'  wi' 
eager  ears  to  the  discoorses  of  Professor  Fer- 
guson who  took  the  Chair  in  Rivets  at  the 
Govan  Iron  Works  Seminary,  drinkin'  out 
of  the  same  mug — " 

"Tarn,  you're  lying,"  said  Blackie;  "what 
is  really  worrying  you  and  who's  your 
friend?" 

Tarn  heaved  a  sigh.  "Ah,  weel,"  he  said, 
"A'  shall  be  wanting  to  go  into  Amiens,  to- 
night, Captain  Blackie,  sir-r,  and  A've  a 
graund  poem  at  the  back  of  me  heid  that 
A'd  like  to  be  writing.  You'll  no'  be  want- 
ing me?" 

236 


THE  LAST  LOAD 

"Not  till  four,"  said  Captain  Blackie;  "I 
want  you  to  stand  by  then  in  case  Fritz  tries 
something  funny.  The  circus  paid  a  visit 
to  89  yesterday  evening  and  it  may  be  our 
turn  to-night." 

Tarn  closed  and  locked  the  door  of  his 
room,  produced  a  large  pad  of  writing- 
paper,  an  ink-well,  and  fitted  his  pen  with 
a  new  nib  before  he  began  his  valedictory 
poem. 

Never  had  a  poem  been  more  difficult  to 
write  to  this  ready  versifier.  He  crossed 
out  and  rewrote,  he  destroyed  sheet  after 
sheet  before  the  rough  work  of  his  hands 
was  ready  for  polishing. 

"How  may  a  puir  wee  airman  fly 
When  ye  have  carried  off  his  sky?" 

the  verse  began,  and  perhaps  those  were  the 
two  most  extravagant  lines  in  the  farewell 
verse. 

He  wrote  a  fair  copy,  folded  it  carefully, 
inserted  it  into  an  envelope  and  slipped  it 
into  his  breast  pocket.     He  was  to  see  Vera 
237 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

that  night  and  had  no  other  feeling  but  one 
of  blank  helplessness,  for  he  had  neither  the 
right  nor  the  desire  to  reveal  by  one  word 
his  closely  guarded  secret,  a  secret  which  he 
fondly  believed  was  shared  by  none. 

His  plan  was  to  give  her  the  envelope  on 
the  promise  that  it  should  not  be  opened 
and  read  until  she  had  reached  America. 
He  had  invented  and  carefully  rehearsed 
certain  cautious  words  of  farewell,  so  de- 
signed that  she  might  accept  them  on  the 
spot  as  conventional  expressions  of  his  re- 
gret at  her  leaving,  but  pondering  them 
afterward,  could  discover  in  these  simple 
phrases  a  hint  of  his  true  sentiment. 

Such  was  the  difficulty  of  composition 
that  he  was  late  for  parade.  All  the  squad- 
ron which  was  not  actually  engaged  in  rou- 
tine duty  was  present.  Ordinarily  they 
would  have  been  dismissed  after  the  briefest 
wait,  but  to-day  Blackie  kept  gunners,  ob- 
servers and  pilots  standing  by  their  ma- 
chines. 

At  half-past  four  Blackie  hurried  across 
238 


THE  LAST  LOAD 

from  his  office.  "There's  a  general  alarm," 
he  said.  "Everybody  is  to  go  up.  Tam, 
take  number  six  and  patrol  the  area." 

As  the  machines  rose  a  big  motor-car 
came  flying  on  to  the  ground  and  two  staff 
officers  alighted. 

Blackie  turned  and  saluted  his  brigadier. 
"We  only  just  got  the  message  through,  sir," 
he  said. 

The  general  nodded.  "It  was  signalled 
to  me  on  the  road,"  he  said;  "I  expected  it. 
Who  is  in  charge  of  that  flight?" 

"Mr.  MacTavish,  sir." 

"Tam,  eh?"  The  general  nodded  his  ap- 
proval. "The  circus  is  getting  big  and 
bold,"  he  said;  "Fritz  has  a  new  machine 
and  he  is  making  the  most  of  it.  There  they 
come,  the  beauties!" 

He  slipped  his  field-glasses  from  the  case 
at  his  belt  and  focused  them  upon  the  sky. 
The  enemy  came,  a  graceful  V-shaped  flight 
of  monstrous  geese,  throbbing  and  hum- 
ming, and  the  wandering  patrols  above 
changed  direction  and  flew  to  meet  them. 
239 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

As  at  a  signal  the  V  parted  at  the  fork, 
each  angle  divided  and  subdivided  into  two, 
so  that  where  one  broad  arrow-head  had 
been,  were  four  diamonds.  The  anti-air- 
craft guns  were  staining  the  evening  skies 
brown  and  white  till  the  attacking  squad- 
rons came  gliding  like  tiny  flies  into  the  dis- 
turbed area,  when  the  gun-fire  ceased. 

And  now  friend  and  enemy  were  so  mixed 
that  it  needed  an  expert  eye  to  distinguish 
them.  They  circled,  climbed,  dived, 
looped  over  and  about  one  another,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  the  tendency  of  the  oncoming 
wave  was  to  retire. 

"They're  going.  They've  had  enough," 
said  the  general. 

Two  machines  were  wobbling  to  earth, 
one  in  a  blaze,  whilst  a  third  planed  down 
toward  the  enemy's  lines.  The  fighters 
were  going  farther  and  farther  away,  all  ex- 
cept three  machines  that  seemed  engaged  in 
weaving  an  invisible  thread  one  about  the 
other. 

240 


THE  LAST  LOAD 

Under  and  over,  round,  up,  down,  and  all 
the  time  the  ceaseless  chatter  of  machine- 
guns. 

Then  one  side-slipped,  recovered  and 
dropped  on  his  tail  to  earth.  The  fight  was 
now  between  two  machines,  the  maneuvers 
were  repeated,  the  same  knitting  of  some 
queer  design  until — 

"Got  him!"  yelled  the  general. 

The  German  plane  fell  in  that  slow  spiral 
which  told  its  own  tale  to  the  expert  watch- 
ers. Then  suddenly  his  nose  went  down 
and  he  crashed. 

"Who's  the  man?     Tarn,  for  a  ducat  1" 

Blackie  nodded. 

Tarn's  machine  was  planing  down  to 
earth. 

"He'll  miss  the  aerodrome,"  said  the  gen- 
eral. 

"That's  not  Tarn's  way  of  returning  at 
all,"  said  Blackie  with  knitted  brows. 

The  machine  dropped  in  the  very  field 
where  the  "Sausage  Killer"  had  been 
241 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

brought  down  a  week  before.  It  did  not 
skim  down  but  landed  awkwardly,  swaying 
from  side  to  side  until  it  came  to  a  stand- 
still. 

Blackie  was  racing  across  the  field.  He 
reached  the  machine  and  took  one  glance  at 
the  pilot.  Then  he  turned  to  the  mechanic 
who  followed  at  his  heels. 

"  'Phone  an  ambulance,"  he  said ;  "they've 
got  Tarn  at  last." 

For  Tarn  sat  limply  in  his  seat,  his  chin 
on  his  breast,  his  hand  still  clasped  about  the 
bloody  grip  of  his  machine-gun. 

The  matron  beckoned  Vera. 

"Here's  your  last  job,  Vera,"  she  said  with 
a  smile.  "Take  your  car  to  the  aerodrome. 
One  of  the  pilots  has  been  killed." 

Vera  stared.     "At  the  aerodrome?" 

Control  it  as  she  might,  her  voice  shook. 

"Yes — didn't  you  see  the  fight  in  the  air?" 

"I  came  out  as  it  was  finishing — oh,  may  I 
take  the  ambulance?" 

The  matron  looked  at  her  in  wonder. 


THE  LAST  LOAD 

"Yes,  child,  take  the  Stafford  car,"  she 
nodded  to  an  ambulance  which  waited  on 
the  broad  drive. 

Without  another  word  Vera  ran  to  the  car 
and  cranked  it  up.  As  she  climbed  into  the 
driver's  seat  she  felt  her  knees  trembling. 

"Please  God,  it  isn't  Tarn!"  she  prayed  as 
she  drove  the  little  car  along  the  aerodrome 
road;  "not  Tarn,  dear  Lord — not  Tarn!" 

And  yet,  by  the  very  panic  within  her  she 
knew  it  was  Tarn  and  none  other. 

"To  the  left,  I  think." 

She  looked  round  in  affright. 

She  had  been  oblivious  to  the  fact  that  a 
doctor  had  taken  his  seat  by  her  side — it  was 
as  though  he  had  emerged  from  nothingness 
and  had  assumed  shape  and  substance  as  he 
spoke. 

She  turned  her  wheel  mechanically, 
bumped  across  a  little  ditch  and  passed 
through  a  broken  fence  to  where  a  knot  of 
men  were  regarding  something  on  the 
ground. 

She  hardly  stopped  the  ambulance  before 
243 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

she  leapt  out  and  pushed  her  way  through 
the  group. 

"Tarn!"  she  whispered  and  at  that  mo- 
ment Tarn  opened  his  eyes.  He  looked  in 
wonder  from  face  to  face,  then  his  eyes 
rested  on  the  girl. 

She  was  down  on  her  knees  by  his  side  in 
a  second  and  her  hand  was  under  his  head. 

"Tarn!"  she  whispered  and  thrilled  at  the 
look  which  came  into  his  blue  eyes. 

Then  before  them  all  she  bent  her  head 
and  kissed  him. 

"From  which  moment,"  said  Blackie 
afterward,  "Tarn  began  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable recoveries  medical  science  has 
ever  recorded.  He  had  three  bullets 
through  his  chest,  one  through  his  shoulder- 
blade,  and  two  of  his  ribs  were  broken." 

Tarn  closed  his  eyes.  "Vera,"  he  mur- 
mured. 

She  looked  up,  self-possessed,  and  eyed 
(Blackie  steadily  as  the  doctor  stooped  over 
the  stricken  man  on  the  other  side  and  gin- 
gerly felt  for  the  wounds. 
244 


THE  LAST  LOAD 

"Tarn  is  going  to  live,  Captain  Blackie," 
she  said,  "because  he  knows  I  want  him  to — 
don't  you,  dear?" 

"Aye — lassie,"  said  Tarn  faintly. 

"Because — because,"  she  said,  "we  are  go- 
ing to  be  married,  aren't  we,  Tarn?" 

He  nodded  and  she  stooped  to  listen. 
"Say  it — in — Scotch." 

She  said  it — in  his  ear,  her  eyes  bright 
and  shining,  her  face  as  pink  as  the  sunset 
flooding  the  scene  and  then  she  got  up  to  her 
feet  and  they  lifted  the  stretcher  and  slid  it 
gently  into  the  grooved  guides  on  the  floor 
of  the  ambulance. 

"Now — driver,"  said  the  doctor  with  a 
little  smile. 

She  went  to  her  place  and  mounted  to  the 
seat.  The  hands  that  touched  the  polished 
wheel  trembled  and  she  slipped  back  to  the 
ground  again,  her  face  white. 

"I  can't — I  can't  drive  him,"  she  said  and 
burst  into  tears  upon  Blackie's  shoulder. 

So  Blackie  drove  the  car  himself  and  left 
his  general  to  wipe  Vera's  eyes. 
245 


TAM  O'  THE  SCOOTS 

A  month  later  Captain  Blackie  went  to 
Havre  to  see  Tarn  en  route  for  home. 

"You're  a  wonderful  fellow,  Tarn — you 
ought  to  be  dead  really  instead  of  being 
bound  for  England." 

"Scotland,"  corrected  Tarn. 

"But  don't  you  think  you're  lucky?" 

"Weel,"  said  Tarn,  "I  did  until  the  morn, 
then  I  struck  a  verra  bad  patch." 

"Bad  luck,"  said  the  innocent  and  sur- 
prised Blackie,  "I  am  sorry  to  hear  that. 
What  happened?" 

"The  big  feller,  the  principal  doctor," 
said  Tarn,  "said  I  might  smoke  a  wee  see- 
gair,  and,  believe  me,  Captain  Blackie,  sir-r, 
when  I  looked  in  ma  pooch  there  wasna  a 
single — " 

Blackie  took  his  cigar-case  from  his 
pocket,  opened  and  extended  it. 

"Tarn,"  he  said,  "you're  nearly  well." 


THE  END 
246 


, 


x-si'i 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara 


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A  A  001  428  219  8 


